Rumors in the South
by dragonagefan
Summary: Adventure and danger for a new generation of Fereldens. Takes place in 9:55 Dragon.
1. Chapter 1: Rumors in the South

_Author's note: This story takes place after the five part story that has already been posted. Please read those tales first to avoid spoilers or confusion. As always, I appreciate your reviews and feedback._

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"Your majesty." The guard paused inside the courtyard archway. When she turned to look at him, lowering her bow, he bowed and continued. "The Warden-Commander has arrived."

"I will see him here, thank you," Charlotte replied. The guard bowed again and stood aside for the armored man to enter the courtyard.

"Hello, Cullen."

The Grey Warden went to one knee on the grass and bowed his head.

"Get up, please, old friend," she said. "There is no need for formalities between us. Besides, in Grey Warden business, you are my superior."

"Only because you stepped down and gave me the position, majesty."

Cullen rose to his feet reluctantly and removed his embossed helmet. Slowly he smiled at the queen of Ferelden, whom he had known and truly liked since the time of the Blight so many years ago.

"Can I offer you refreshment? You must have come straight from the road. Will you sit down?" Charlotte set aside her long bow and gestured at the small table and chairs nearby. It was set with a silver pitcher, cups, and a small tray.

Cullen sat gratefully, mindful of his mud-splattered cloak.

"I apologize for arriving early," he said, watching as she removed the leather archery bracers she had strapped on over the sleeves of her gown. A man-sized target was positioned a good distance down the length of the narrow courtyard, and it was riddled with arrows. The queen was still a formidable archer. "The news I have I would like to present to you and the king together, if I may."

"The king," she replied, shaking out the loose fabric of her sleeves, "will join us shortly. Some business with supplicants from the Free Marches came up at the last moment."

"It is odd to not find you together, my lady," Cullen replied as she took a seat at the table and poured some water from the pitcher. "I was under the impression from my last visit that you didn't spend much time apart."

"No, we don't. Not any more. Not when one never knows…" Charlotte trailed off. She shook herself after a moment, pasting a smile on her face that did not reach her eyes.

"How long has it been since your Joining?" Cullen asked gently.

"About twenty-five years. Slightly longer since Alistair's. We don't speak of it much. When the end comes, we will go together. We decided that long ago. Until then, we simply enjoy the time we have together to the fullest."

He nodded, his respect for the lady growing. Not only had she and the king defeated the archdemon singlehandedly, but they had also united the country in a time of civil war and saved countless thousands of lives, his included. They had jointly ruled the kingdom since, and ruled it well, ushering in an unprecedented time of peace and prosperity for Ferelden. Then they had rebuilt the Grey Wardens and, against all odds, provided heirs for their bloodline and the future safekeeping of the country.

At this thought of the Theirin children, he asked, "I know it is not my place, your majesty, but may I ask… What have you told the prince and princess?"

"The truth." She met his eye squarely now. "I will not lie to my children. The rest of the nation may have to be told a half-truth, but not my children."

Cullen regarded her steadily, careful not to allow his face to betray a judgment in one way or the other. He remembered the snapping, determined look in her eyes from the days following the end of the Blight when she had struggled to rebuild their order. Her pretty, aristocratic face was more lined now, her dark brown hair streaked with grey, but this was clearly the same unwavering woman. She was tall and rangy as ever, still holding herself as taut as a bowstring.

He opened his mouth to make a polite response, but she saw something over his shoulder and her features changed instantly.

"Sorry I'm late. Did I miss anything?" Alistair's light voice preceded him into the courtyard. He strode to the table, managing to prevent Cullen from sinking to his knees in salute as well as kissing the palms of his wife's outstretched hands simultaneously. Cullen settled for clasping his crossed fists to his chest and bowing, Templar-style.

"Sit down, sit down," Alistair clapped Cullen on the armored shoulder jovially, and took a seat next to Charlotte. "Nice beard, by the way. It suits you." He chuckled and stroked his own clean-shaven chin. Despite a quarter of an age as king, he still exuded a boyish energy and glee at life. Everyone knew it was partly due to his great love for his queen. Cullen noticed that, unlike other formerly active men, Alistair had not gone to fat from a lifestyle in the city. He was still as trim as when he toted heavy armor and sword around Ferelden, fighting the darkspawn and the Blight.

"I bring news, you majesty," Cullen began formally. "News from the south."

Alistair's joking demeanor quickly turned serious. "You have come from Ostagar?"

Cullen nodded. "The barbarians amass in the Wilds to press our borders."

"Only the Chasind?"

"Yes, majesty. We have sensed no darkspawn."

"Why do the Chasind Wilders decide to attack us?" Charlotte frowned, a line forming between her brows. "There has been no provocation?"

"No, majesty. I sent men to investigate at the villages along the borders of the Wilds. There has been no hostility from the farmers there, only increased aggression and raids against them by the Chasind." Cullen suddenly felt very tired. He ran one gloved hand through his short curls. "I have two contingents of Wardens stationed at the fortress. I have come to report this matter to you, and ask for aid. And advice."

"They have been peaceful since the Divine Age," Alistair said slowly, almost to himself. "What now drives them to the north?"

"Has anyone attempted to parley?" Charlotte asked.

"There has been no contact or engagement by my men. We have spotted from the top of the towers what seems to be an important shaman's tent complex not far off. I was going to go myself to attempt to speak with the shaman, but I wanted to speak with you first. I thought it may be… prudent to send an envoy of the crown instead. Someone that may exercise more recognized authority than I."

All three fell silent for a long moment, considering. Alistair and Charlotte exchanged a long look.

"Please, Cullen," Alistair said, rising to his feet. "We need some time to talk. Why don't you take some rest and we will meet with you again tomorrow."

"Yes, your majesty," the Warden replied, knowing a dismissal, albeit a polite one, when he heard it. He stood, bowed, and walked out of the courtyard. The guard positioned just outside the archway inclined his head and gestured for Cullen to follow him.

Before they had reached the end of the corridor, the guard stopped suddenly and bowed deeply. Cullen had been deep in thought already and almost ran into the man. He glanced up, surprised, and then also bowed as the prince and princess entered the hall from an adjoining room.

"Look, Duncan, it's the Warden-Commander." Eleanor Theirin noticed him first, calling her twin brother's attention to him. She made a small curtsey in his direction. "How are you, Cullen?"

Cullen had known Charlotte and Alistair's children since their births and had watched them grow into the poised, healthy, capable young people they had become. He murmured a polite response to her question.

"You will have to excuse us." Duncan put his hand on his sister's arm. "We will catch up later. You will be staying a few days, yes?" Cullen nodded his assent, and the twins continued down the hall toward the courtyard.

"Hello, my children," Charlotte called over her shoulder as they entered the courtyard. She had taken the bow up again after Cullen's departure and was aiming again at the target dummy as she and Alistair spoke.

Alistair spread his arms wide and hugged both his children, to Eleanor's delight and Duncan's uncomfortable amusement. He was immeasurably proud of them both.

"We know why Cullen came to visit." Duncan sat down and faced his father squarely, saying his piece directly as was his manner. Alistair raised his eyebrows in return. It was often said that he and his son were as alike as two matched gauntlets, but in appearance only. Duncan had the same look as his father, but his personality was grave and serious where Alistair's was light and joking. They met each other's eyes now, the younger man's steel grey eyes on the elder's light brown.

"Oh yes, we heard all about it," added Eleanor. "Good shot, Mother!" Charlotte's last arrow had burst the straw-stuffed bag of the dummy's head with the force of its impact.

Eleanor was more like Alistair in personality. She was a sweet girl, quick to laugh, but could be hard as silverite if threatened. They knew there was metal beneath the velvet of her smile. She leaned forward to take a piece of fruit from the tray, her red-gold curls falling over her shoulders.

Charlotte laid down the bow again and joined her family at the table.

"If my little eavesdroppers know all about it," she said, "then you know we have a situation that must be dealt with."

"I think you should send us to speak with the Chasind leaders," Duncan said softly. He had a low, melodious voice, and was a persuasive speaker. He rarely had to speak loudly to get the attention of others.

"You don't want to go yourselves, do you?" asked his sister, nibbling at the fruit. "We could go back with Cullen, fix the problem, and be home in a few weeks."

Charlotte didn't speak right away, but her brows drew down over her eyes. Clearly, she didn't like the idea of sending her children into potential danger, even backed by half the Grey Wardens in Ferelden.

"It's probably just some misunderstanding," Duncan continued. He emphasized his words with his strong hands. "We need to speak to the right people and get it straightened out. You said it yourself, Father. They have been peaceful for so many years. There must be a rational explanation for their protest."

"Is that what you think too?" Charlotte turned her gaze on her daughter, whose face changed quickly from lounging ease to shrewd campaigner. After all, who had insisted the twins study so much military history and tactics? Charlotte almost laughed. "You look so much like my father right now, daughter. He used to get that same stubborn look on his face." She smiled sadly. Perhaps beyond the Veil, one day, Bryce Cousland could finally meet this granddaughter that resembled him.

"We are ready for this, Mother," Eleanor insisted. "Not only if it comes to fighting, but the negotiations." Duncan nodded his agreement.

Alistair, silent up until this point in the conversation, leaned forward and placed his hands on the table.

"I have always known it would come to this one day," he said. "You are the children of adventurers, and idleness is not in your blood. You will to go Ostagar, if," he held up a finger, "you promise to return safely. No funny business, I mean it."

Eleanor clasped her hands together, her blue eyes sparkling, and nodded vigorously. Duncan merely looked pleased.

"Now run along and pack some things," Alistair waved his hand at them. "I want to speak to your mother. You will leave tomorrow at noon."

As they left the courtyard, he turned to Charlotte.

"Are you sure about this?" she asked in a worried tone.

"Aren't you? We've taught them well, and it's time they begin to use it." He put his arms around her. "Now relax, and let's enjoy this sunshine while it lasts. Cullen and the Wardens will watch out for them."

They sat together, not speaking, until the sun sank below the ramparts of the palace walls.


	2. Chapter 2: Of Dreams and Plans

Eleanor woke suddenly, her heart hammering in her chest. It took a moment to realize that she was safe in her bed, still in Denerim, and not in a barren, icy place. She grasped the coverlet in her fists and forced her breathing to slow. The fire in the hearth had burned down but moonlight streamed in brightly from a crack in the shuttered window.

Quickly, she swung out of bed and pulled on a dressing gown and slippers. One of _those_ dreams, and Duncan would want to hear about it, surely. She padded noiselessly down the short hall and, seeing firelight flicker under his door, entered Duncan's room without knocking.

He sat at his desk, still fully dressed. She began to speak to him and then noticed the faraway look in his eyes. His hand moved absently on the desktop as if he were holding a quill. Eleanor walked quietly over to the desk and peered into her brother's face. His eyes were extremely dilated and fixed on a point far in the distance; almost no trace of grey iris remained. His breathing was shallow and panting. When she touched him, he twitched but did not come out of his trance. He did not turn his face to her.

"Sister, is that you?" Even his voice came from far away.

"Yes," she answered quietly. "What is it?"

He raised the hand that was scratching at the desktop and made a motion as if to brush aside some dust in the air.

"I can see it all," he muttered. "All but this part here. I do not know what lies there, in the darkness." He stared into the place he indicated, narrowing his eyes. Suddenly he shook himself violently and looked up at her.

"What did you see, Duncan?"

"You had a dream, didn't you?"

She nodded slowly. Duncan got to his feet with a groan and shuffled to the bed. He crawled under the blankets and lay on his back, completely still, staring at the canopy draped over the bedposts. After a moment, she joined him, just as she had done all the times they were children and she had had a bad dream. She curled on her side facing him and pulled the quilt up to her chin.

"It's going to be dangerous," Eleanor whispered, knowing that she didn't need to explain what she was referring to.

She and Duncan had always been close, and for a long time everyone assumed it was because they were twins. But there was something more sometimes; an inexplicable and impossible connection of their minds, where one's thoughts picked up precisely where the other's ended. There were other strange things too—their ability to read a stranger with an accuracy that went beyond an intuitive understanding of body language and facial expressions. And the dreams.

"What did you dream of?"

"Ostagar. The Chasind. A land beyond the Wilds, full of snow. Something… shadowy."

Duncan sighed and closed his eyes. "Are you afraid?"

"Yes. But I know it cannot be avoided."

"You're right. It's almost completely determined. All but the part I couldn't see." He raised one hand to his face and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"I can't go with you, Nora," Duncan said, reverting to his childhood nickname for her. "There will be danger, and I have to stay here. This time it's your journey."

"You're sure?" Her eyes were huge, and she clutched the blankets tightly.

Duncan nodded. "It was all laid out before me, like the last time we played Queen's Knights. Remember?"

The game, played on a large checkered board, was a favorite among their family for its difficulty and level of strategy required. The game he was referring to had taken place months ago and he had gotten the same strange look in his eyes while they sat poring over the pieces and their potential moves. Suddenly he began moving the knights, his as well as her own, detailing new strategies that she had only just considered, counterstrategies, and mass movements across the board that neither of them had thought to attempt. He had come out of the trance, frowned, and hesitantly tried to explain what it had been like.

"I could see all the possible moves, branching out before me like a great tree," he had spoken slowly, trying to put difficult concepts into words. "Every move either clicked others in or out of place, depending on the possibilities, like tumblers in a great lock. I could see every move and every potential move from the beginning to the end of the game."

After that, Duncan had not played Queen's Knights with either of their parents.

"There is someone coming from the south," Eleanor whispered. "That's what I dreamed of. A Grey Warden. They have been attacked and he comes for help. He will be here at dawn."

"If it's dangerous, we can't both go. I can see that you are better suited to this than I."

She didn't ask him again if he was sure. She could tell from his clenched jaw that there was no misunderstanding his words. Eleanor set her own mouth determinedly, and they began to speak.

* * *

The sun had just begun to rise over the flat glassy water to the east when there was a clatter of hooves and shouts from the castle gates. Eleanor and Duncan were the first to the audience hall, having sat up the rest of the night, and Alistair, Charlotte, and Cullen appeared soon after they received notice and had hastily dressed.

The Grey Warden was filthy and exhausted, having obviously rode all the way from the southern fortress without stopping for rest. He collapsed to his knees as soon as he saw Cullen.

"Maker's mercy!" Cullen exclaimed, recognizing the man. "Warren? Report!"

Warren raised his head, his eyes barely focusing. Cullen strode forward and grasped him by the grimy grey tunic, lifting the smaller man bodily to his feet.

"Report!" he roared.

"Warden-Commander," Warren began, his voice weak, "I ride for reinforcements. As soon as you left Ostagar, the Wilders attacked us in great numbers. The other Wardens sent me for troops, for aid."

Before Cullen turned around, Alistair was already addressing the nearest guard, arranging for men to send south. After a few moments of quiet speaking, the guard trotted away.

"I can send soldiers right away," he told Cullen, "but they will not be fully ready to march until evening."

"I cannot delay," Cullen growled, setting the other Warden gently back on his feet. Alistair nodded at him.

"We would speak with you," Duncan said as the Warden-Commander stalked out of the room.

He placed his hands on the backs of his mother and sister and propelled them lightly into the adjoining room. Once they were all inside the study, he closed and latched the door.

"This is clearly no longer a simple matter of negotiation," Alistair began immediately, pacing in front of the hearth.

"Clearly," Duncan agreed.

"You're not thinking of going still?" Charlotte asked, raising her brows worriedly.

"No, I am not," he replied coolly, and she visibly relaxed. "But Eleanor is."

Alistair spun around, his face flushed. He opened his mouth to speak, but before any angry words could escape, Eleanor stepped between him and his son.

"Father." She put a hand on his arm. He stopped and looked at her for the first time that morning. Her face was slightly paler than usual but set in determined lines. Instead of flowing in loose waves down her back, her coppery gold hair was bound in a thick braid, and she wore supple dark leather armor. Two short knives were strapped to the belt at her waist.

Alistair stared for a moment, then sighed and took his daughter in his arms. "You've already decided, haven't you?" he said, leaning his cheek against the side of her head. "Did you have one of your… dream-thingies?"

"Yes. And so did Duncan."

They had told their parents about their strange dreams, of course. The first thing they had done was inquire carefully of a senior enchanter of the Circle of Magi. There were some people, they were told, who are not mages, but are receptive to the workings of the Fade and the spirits. This sensitivity—they were careful not to call it 'ability'—could manifest itself in several ways, one of them being dreams of particular clarity. Over the years, they had all become somewhat comfortable with the idea of Eleanor's dreams and didn't think it strange to heed her unprompted advice on certain subjects. She had looked it up in a book once, but never used the term herself:_ precognition_. It was a frightening term to her, even though they were assured that it did not make either her or her brother mages.

Charlotte gazed at both her children intently, marking their matched expressions.

"Leliana would no doubt call this the Maker's doing," she said, half to herself. "I suppose if you've made up your minds…"

"We have, Mother," replied Duncan.

"Is this what you want, petal?"

"Father, you haven't called me that since I was a little girl." She smiled, her eyes lighting up. Then she sobered. "It is what I have to do. You understand that, don't you?"

Alistair met his wife's gaze over Eleanor's head. "I don't, entirely, but I do." He stepped away from her and turned toward a wooden shelf against the wall. "Duncan, help me shift this?"

They both pushed against the bookcase until it slide slowly aside, revealing a dark hole in the wall. The twins looked at each other in astonishment. A secret in the castle they didn't know about? Alistair reached inside the recess and withdrew a cobwebby box.

Charlotte reached deep into one of the desk drawers as Alistair placed the box on top of it. She withdrew a battered lock picking kit and went to work with two lengths of fine wire, disengaging the locks on the dusty carton.

"Could have used a key, but noooo," Alistair joked as she worked. "'Keys can be found, Alistair'." He mimicked Charlotte's voice perfectly. She glared at him for a moment, and then rolled her eyes at her children and returned her attention to the locks.

"You would have had these things soon enough," Charlotte said, removing the lid. "Now I hope you will not need them as urgently as I once did." She reached in and began removing objects.

Eleanor and Duncan exchanged another look of astonishment. They had always wondered where these things had been hidden, the relics of their parents' days as Grey Warden heroes. The king's golden armor was in the armory, of course, but they knew there had to be more.

"This is the bow known as Falon'Din's Reach. It's named after the Dalish god of the dead. I found it in a dragon's hoard in the Brecillian Forest." The bow looked silky with dark grain lines running through it, marking it as made of dragonthorn wood.

"This one's another of your mother's," Alistair pulled what looked like a plain dark leather belt from the box. The buckle was dark metal and didn't catch the light at all. "The Shadow Belt. Helps keep you sneaky." Charlotte took the belt and fastened it around Eleanor's waist.

There were many more things in the box, but Charlotte replaced the lid.

"I have taught you all I know about remaining unseen and attacking from the shadows," she said, "and of archery, and evasion. I know your wits are strong. Keep them about you at all times on the field of battle. It will be your wits that save you, not your equipment. We have seen many who have fallen from trusting too deeply in their things and not in themselves."

"Here's something from me, to keep you safe." Duncan stepped toward her with a necklace in his hands. He leaned toward her and brushed aside her braid to clasp it around her neck. The pendant was round, heavy, and made of silver. Suspended in the clear middle section were a few drops of dark red liquid.

"So a part of me is always close to you. Look for me in the Fade if you're in trouble," he whispered. She nodded to let him know she understood.

They stood together for a moment, Eleanor trying to think of something to say to calm her parents. Before any appropriate words came to her, they heard Cullen reenter the audience room.

"Your majesty," he bawled, his armor clanking. He turned toward the four of them as they came out of the study, but stopped suddenly when he saw Eleanor. Cullen's face showed stark astonishment for a moment before he clamped the expression down.

"Have you made sufficient preparations?" Charlotte asked smoothly.

Cullen nodded, standing at attention. His sword and shield were strapped to his back, and he was wearing a clean cloak. He had polished and cleaned his armor during the night, the gold inlays on the dark armor gleaming brightly.

"With your permission, majesty," he said, staring straight ahead and standing at attention, "I would like to leave Warren here a few days to recover."

"Of course," Alistair replied. "You can leave immediately for Ostagar along with a half-dozen ready guards and my daughter." Cullen's eyes flicked to Eleanor, standing close to her brother, and then straight ahead of him again. "The rest of the men I will send directly after you at a fast march as soon as they are prepared. As I said, they should leave no later than nightfall."

Alistair put himself directly in Cullen's line of sight, forcing the man to meet his eyes. "Watch over her," he said softly. Cullen nodded.

The whinny of horses came in from the square outside. Eleanor embraced her family one at a time, whispering words of farewell but not giving herself time to falter. Charlotte marveled again at the strength that radiated from her, the calm sense of assuredness that reminded her of the other Couslands in the family.

Eleanor swung up easily in the saddle, sitting well on the excited horse as it pranced underneath her. She waved once to her parents and brother, who stood at the edge of the paved square. Then she wheeled the horse around at Cullen's command and followed him and the soldiers out and onto Denerim's main road.

They stood for a long moment after the cloud of dust from the horses' hooves dissipated. Alistair tightened his arm around his wife's shoulders as she slumped against him.

"Don't worry, Mother," Duncan assured her, taking her arm from the other side. "The Maker has always turned His face on Eleanor."

And they went inside.

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_Big thanks to Speakfire for her critique of this chapter and to Tarante11a for her support and for being awesome. Thank you also to Skydiver8._


	3. Chapter 3: The Road to Ostagar

They were miles down the West Road toward Lothering at a hard gallop before Cullen signaled them to reign in and trot. The guardsmen rode three ahead and three behind, with Cullen and Eleanor in the middle, and so far they had met no one, though the day was still new.

It was a long while later before Eleanor relaxed her grip on the reigns and allowed herself to think. She realized with surprise that she rode her grey mare Ana, and silently thanked the Maker for the old groomsman in the stable who must have had her saddled on purpose with the other horses. She twisted slightly in the saddle and inspected the travel bags that buckled on either side of Ana's withers. One bulged with apples and crusty loaves of white bread. The other contained a heavy travel cloak, extra boots, and various changes of clothing.

She settled back into the rhythm of her horse's familiar gait, and focused on the road ahead. They were just beginning to ride out of the hills that surrounded Denerim into the wide expanse of farmlands that made up most of the country. There would be wheat, hops, and corn growing, almost ripe for harvest. The wheat she especially liked, because it looked like golden waves in the sun when the wind blew.

They passed a few homesteads and many fields near the road. Occasionally, a merchant and his wagon would be forced aside by the guards riding three abreast, but none complained loud enough for the guards behind to hear. Mostly they gawked at the procession, recognizing Cullen from the armor he wore more than, it seemed, their princess.

As night fell, they camped near the north fork of the Drakon River. The guards kept apart from Cullen and Eleanor, addressing them formally, and after the meal was done, they retired a bit away from the fire to play a game of Old Man's Bones with a set of hand-carved runes. Eleanor was throwing an old blanket over Ana's back when she heard Cullen step up behind her.

"Princess."

"There's no need to call me that here," she answered. "Besides, you've known me since I was a babe. If circumstances were different, I might be calling you 'Uncle Cullen' instead of Warden."

Cullen frowned slightly at her light words, but then seemed to decide to ignore them. "I recall seeing you shoot at last year's spring festival, so I know your skill with the bow. I need to know how you can handle those," he jerked his chin at the daggers she still wore on her belt. "There may be fighting, and in case you cannot use your bow…"

She nodded and followed him to a flat grassy place slightly away from the camp. He paused, turned to face her, and drew out his sword and shield. The guards stopped their chatter at the sound of steel and turned to watch. Eleanor drew out her daggers and sank into a slight crouch.

Cullen began circling to her left. She watched him closely. Duncan also fought with a sword and shield, but he used it lightly and moved as quickly as she did, often dropping his guard altogether to close in with the sword. Cullen held his shield, emblazoned with a Warden's griffon, firmly in front of him and paced solidly with his sword up and ready.

With her limbs loose, Eleanor made several feints at Cullen's guard. Each was met only with a slight movement of his shield and a flick of his eyes. There would be no baiting him, she saw. Abandoning the jouncey movements of feints and counter feints, she darted to his right and kept low to the ground, trying to flank him on his shield side. Though she thought she moved quickly, he grunted and pushed the shield out to intercept her path as she passed, knocking her aside. She stumbled but kept her feet, retreating.

"Good," he said, resuming his stance, "that may work on those with less practice with a shield than I. Be ready." With that, he began to move toward her, retracting his shield slightly to bring his sword arm forward.

She dodged most of his attacks easily and suspected he was not moving as fast as he would against a real opponent. One close blow she deflected on the edge of her dagger, twisting her body out of the way at the last moment. As they sparred, Eleanor began to notice a pattern to his movements—how he dropped his right shoulder before a thrust from below, the set of his left foot on a sidestroke. She waited, attacking from high on his right with a dagger, and when he raised his shield and dropped his sword to block, stepped in. Before he realized it, she was inside his guard, close enough for him to see the beads of sweat that stood out on her face from the exertion. The dagger in her left hand was struck away with the edge of his shield, but by then, too close to reach with his sword, she held the remaining dagger at the gap in his armor by his throat.

"Do you yield, Ser?" she asked, her breathing quick but not exhausted, not panting.

"Yes," he said, and she stepped back. He sheathed his sword and regarded her. The guards sent up a little cheer which was quickly banished with a quick glare from Cullen. They turned back to their game reluctantly.

"You did well, Pri—Eleanor," he continued, "but you must remember…" And he lectured her for some time about the dangers of getting too close to an enemy who may have hidden weapons. He ended with a little praise. "You did well, not falling when I rapped you with my shield. And your feints were good. I do not need to worry about you falling to the first barbarian with an axe that finds you without your bow."

And with that, they went to sleep, and were up early the next day to resume their journey south to the Grey Warden's fortress.

Over the noise of hooves and jingling tack, Cullen asked her what she knew of the Chasind.

"As much as anyone, I suppose," replied Eleanor. "They were indigenous people that lived here until the war with our ancestors. They went south into the Wilds and the Avvar went into the mountains. They are generally peaceful and keep to themselves, sometimes coming as far north as Lothering to trade."

Cullen nodded. "The Blight was devastated most of the Wilds and, we assumed, the Chasind. We didn't know how many fled north." He shifted in his saddle. "The swamp is resilient, the Chasind apparently more so."

"Have we never known how many live in the Wilds?"

"It's not as if a King's Census could be performed there. It's a dangerous place, and deceiving to those not used to navigating it. The Chasind have adapted to live there, and know things about it we might never discover."

Eleanor was silent for a few moments. "Why do they attack us, after all this time?"

"That... I do not know. It is what we must discover, what I hope to discover with your help and a peaceful parlay."

They fell silent, and Eleanor was lost in thought for a long while.

The next several days of travel passed without incident. On the fifth day after leaving Denerim, south of Lothering, they came upon a column of men marching south along the Imperial Highway. They were armed and armored, and carried shields bearing the mark of a tower upon a red hill.

"Those are knights of Redcliffe," Cullen said, spurring his horse forward. A man detached from the mass and hailed them.

"It's Bann Colm!" Eleanor recognized him at once. Colm Guerrin, Bann of Rainesfere, was the son of Arl Teagan of Redcliffe.

"Warden, my lady." Colm bowed to both of them. "We received a messenger of the Wardens almost a week ago, and my father sends men to help reinforce at Ostagar, if need be." He straightened and regarded Eleanor with his frank blue gaze, but said nothing further.

"Thank you and your family for your aid, Bann Colm," Cullen said. "We shall ride on and meet you later at the fortress." He nodded to the man, who rejoined his soldiers on the march, and they continued on past the column.

The sun was sinking westerly over the Frostback Mountains when they saw smoke rising from a distant point above the road.

"Ostagar lies ahead." Cullen's face was grim, and Eleanor took a deep breath before nudging Ana to continue. They would arrive at the site of the battle tomorrow.


	4. Chapter 4: Denerim, part 1

"Wot do you suppose is going on here?" The old farmer peered out from behind his cabbages at the soldiers. "They're fairly runnin'!"

"Didn't you hear, old granfer?" asked the man in the next stall. He finished placing potatoes in a bin and turned. "This morning, early like, the princess left the palace with a Grey Warden."

"Get out." The old man's mouth hung open, his pipe in danger of spilling out onto the cobblestones.

"It's the Maker's truth. Me own boy saw 'em on the road. Said they were gallopin' long down the Western Road. Now these soldiers goin' back and forth between the palace and Fort Drakon, looks like."

"Wot's our princess doin' with soldiers?"

"Dunno, but I hear the prince hasn't gone. When's the last time you saw one without t'other?"

The two men shook their heads at each other ruefully.

"Here, you! Ser Watchman!" The younger farmer called out to a passing guard on patrol. "What's the trouble? Why're all the men runnin' around scarin' off our customers?"

The guardsman leaned on his pike and pushed his visor up.

"No need for alarm, citizen," he said. "There's a bit of trouble down at Ostagar, but we'll soon get it sorted out. Don't concern yourselves overmuch." He passed on, sauntering toward the Gnawed Noble Tavern, but keeping well clear of the soldiers hustling down the lane. The two farmers returned to their vegetables and spoke no more of the strange business in the city that day.

* * *

Alistair was tightening the buckles on his greaves when he heard a cough from the doorway. He straightened up and met the gaze of his wife.

"What in the name of Andraste's nightgown do you think you're doing?"

He flinched a little under the stern tone, but it only served to strengthen his resolve. He said nothing, but started to pull on and buckle the tassets over his thighs.

"Did you think I would notice your absence?" Charlotte uncrossed her arms and stepped into room. She placed her hands on his to stop him.

"No, I knew you'd find me," he replied. He glanced up into her face again. "Maker, Charlotte, we don't know what could happen down there." He dropped the segmented armor onto the floor, where it rang against a breastplate. "I'm going with the soldiers. I can't trust anyone to protect her but myself."

To his surprise, she didn't argue with him further, but put her arms around him. He hugged her back, resting his hot face in her hair.

She released him after a few moments, and said, "You are a good man, Alistair. You have been a good husband, king, and father all these years, and I love you beyond measure." She looked up into his face, which was filled with worry, doubt, and fear. "Yes, we must go. I'm glad you've decided. I'll get—"

Alistair shook his head. "No, you have to stay here, with Duncan. Don't quarrel with me about it. There's still that business with the Free Marchers to sort out. He'll need your guidance; it's a difficult situation, and I don't think they'll accept his authority alone." He stooped to retrieve the fallen piece of plate mail from the floor.

"You're not wearing the royal armor?" Charlotte stepped behind him to help with the buckles. Together they quickly fastened the remaining tasset, the breastplate, and the pauldrons over his shoulders. It was a deceptively plain set, but at a closer glance it shone with the faint light of lyrium infusion.

"I prefer this," he replied, rolling his shoulders to test the straps. "And I see that look you're giving me." He leaned toward her so their foreheads touched.

"I feel like we're all moving in something we cannot control," she said. Her voice was low. "First Eleanor has gone, and now you… And I can't come with you. What if… what if something happens?"

"Nothing will happen," he replied. "I'll just nip down with the guard I promised Cullen I'd send, and the whole thing will probably be sorted out before we know it. In fact, I bet Eleanor will have it settled before I even arrive. She always was the diplomat in the family."

Charlotte smiled, but the smile didn't quite reach her eyes. Her lips pressed together in a line.

"Let's go find Duncan. I want to get the men organized and set out as early as possible." Alistair strapped on his sword and shield and, taking her by the hand, they went out to find their son.

Duncan was in the study adjoining the throne room poring over a map of the lands north of the Waking Sea. He looked up when his parents entered and rose from the chair, but did not speak. Charlotte recalled how, as a small child, he would stare at everyone in an extremely similar calm manner, as if trying to communicate without words.

He waited until they were standing quite close before he said, "Mother. Father. I see you're marching with the soldiers." His voice was even.

"Ah, yes," Alistair replied. "I decided to go, to look after your sister. We'll return shortly. Are you all right? You look a bit… strained."

"I didn't sleep much last night," said Duncan. He tried to smile. "I'm a bit worried, too."

"Don't be. Just remember," Alistair pointed at the map. "Ser Vant from Wildervale hates Ser Feddick from Starkhaven. Don't leave them alone together. And don't let that Ser Andel from Nickwell push you around. He's a bossy fellow; he thinks that lands near the Waking Sea give him prominence over the others."

Duncan's smile broadened. "Be careful, Father," he said.

"I will. Hold down the kingdom while I'm gone, you two," said Alistair, laughing a little. He embraced Duncan and Charlotte, kissing the latter firmly before he let them go again. "I'm going to Fort Drakon now. Will you come see me off in an hour? Goodbye for now."

With that, he turned and exited the room and the palace, feeling almost confident enough to whistle. After all, he thought, this had to be some misunderstanding. He didn't know why he felt such anxiety about the whole business—certainly it would be cleared up in no time.


	5. Chapter 5: Unanswered Questions

When they struck camp in the morning it was barely light and the smell of smoke hung heavy in the air. Cullen said nothing, only pressed his lips into a smaller line and hastily saddled his tall horse. All the animals were skittish and shied nervously at the smallest provocation. The mood was passed onto the humans, who rode without speaking, sitting rigid in their saddles.

After riding awhile in the growing daylight, Eleanor moved her grey mare closer to Cullen's horse. "Have you noticed," she asked in a low voice, "there are no birds singing, no insects?"

Cullen didn't answer. He was watching the sky, his eyes ticking back and forth over the horizon under his lowered brows. Eleanor looked at him for a moment and then also turned looked up at the sky.

"What is that?"

A dark shape was hovering just above the skyline, coming out of the column of smoke that rose from the mountains to the south. She squinted. It circled the ridge ahead then began to move north toward them. _Not birds_, she thought. It was too solid, not made up of individual animals. What could it be?

The horses began to whinny. Several started rearing onto their hind legs. The guards cursed and tried to control them. The flying shadow came closer, making a strange screeching as it approached. Ana's eyes rolled and her ears lay flat, but she stood still, quivering. Cullen held his horse in check with the reins clutched tightly in his fists, though the frightened animal turned in place. He glared at the sky.

It was nearly upon them before the shape clicked in her mind: long neck, tail, large wings, all that was missing were spouts of flame and it would look just like the tapestry in the upper corridor in the palace. A dragon, in the open daylight, flying directly over them.

"Maker's breath," she breathed, hardly daring to speak aloud. The horses were shrieking now, the scent of reptile strong in their noses. Four broke and ran, the guards atop them shouting and sawing at the reins to regain control.

The beast overhead circled directly above them, peering down. It came very low, and Eleanor's heart thudded in her chest to think that it might land on the road before them. Cullen put his hand on his sword and drew it out so that three inches of the steel showed above the scabbard. He did not take his eyes from the dragon and it seemed to stare right back at him as it passed, wheeled, and turned, heading south again toward the Grey Warden fortress.

Cullen slammed his sword back into the sheath as it retreated and lowered his eyes from the sky. Eleanor realized she had been holding her breath, and let it out in a whoosh. She leaned forward to pat Ana's neck. The horse was so nervous that she jumped at the touch of her mistress. She turned her face toward Eleanor and regarded her with her gentle brown eyes.

"Sorry, girl," she murmured.

"We shall have to go on without the others," Cullen said, looking around and noting the two remaining guardsmen. "They will have to catch up; we have no time to wait." He spurred his horse and they moved on at a quick canter.

"What does it mean?" Eleanor asked, raising her voice over the sound of the hooves. "A dragon? The smoke?"

"I don't know."

His face looked so grim that she fell silent and didn't speak again until they reached the outer gate of Ostagar. The guard peered over the wooden staves at the top of the wall. Once he recognized Cullen, he hurried to pull the barrier out of the way so they could enter. Eleanor tried not to gawk as the horses walked through the entrance and turned tiredly to the sound of running water and other animals. Neither she nor her brother had visited the Grey Warden's fortress, though she knew her parents made occasional trips. She had only heard stories about Ostagar. According to her parents, it was a place of destiny and bad memories, where they had met at the beginning of the Blight, and where the last king of Ferelden had met his fate. They had never been very specific about the appearance of the place, and immediately its vastness and age impressed her.

The area directly inside the northern gate was an open grassy field. A well-worn path lead the way to the stable, which was snugged against the north wall. Next to it, judging from the noise, was the mabari kennel. Bales of hay were propped against the wall of the stable, and an open well with a trough gurgled between the two buildings. Columns of pale stone rose from the walls and tapered to delicate arches high above. The walls ahead that marked the edge of the field were thick and cut the rest of the fortress off from view. A set of two wide stairways lead downward, following the slope of the land. Eleanor could just see what she guessed were the outer walls rising some distance away.

The smoke was thinner when they arrived, but still rose noticeably from the south side of the wall. The fortress was a hive of activity and shouting. Men ran back and forth on the battlements and through the grassy area behind the wall that blocked the valley to the south. Some carried equipment; some were running messages. Eleanor saw an elf bent almost double under a huge bundle of arrows he was trying to carry.

As they came closer to the stables, a young man ran forward to take the reins and lead the lathered horses away. Eleanor quickly grabbed her bow and quiver from Ana's back. Cullen swung off the saddle and immediately began striding toward a tent near an enclosed area on the west side of the clearing. Eleanor and the two remaining guards followed him. When he reached teh tent, he pushed the tent flap up and walked inside without pausing. The guards halted outside the tent, but Eleanor crowded inside behind him. The tent was undecorated except for a low table and chair. Several sets of armor and weapons were displayed on racks.

He was already talking rapidly to a dwarven woman in plain heavy armor. Her face was turned up to him and she nodded several times. Eleanor stepped closer to Cullen as he finished speaking, escaping his notice for the moment, but not that of the smaller warrior.

"Atrast vala, Princess," said the woman, bowing to her. Cullen glanced back over his shoulder, apparently having forgotten that she followed him.

"My apologies," he said. "This is Thorin, my second in command."

Thorin bowed again, the beads in her blonde hair clinking together.

"Please, what's been happening here?" Eleanor asked. "Did you see the dragon? Where did it come from?"

Thorin took a breath and darted a glance at Cullen, who nodded. No secrets, then. She clasped her hands behind her back and began pacing the short length of the tent as she spoke.

"The Chasind began to gather in large numbers in the valley to the south about a week ago. We became suspicious, as they normally don't congregate in such large numbers this far north, and barred the main gate through the fortress. They have set up a good-sized camp outside the walls."

Cullen crossed his arms over his chest and scowled.

"The night after the Commander left for Denerim," Thorin continued in a businesslike voice, "they began pressing an attack against the gate and scaling the walls. At first we were able to hold them off but it quickly became serious. We... that is- I underestimated their numbers." She squared her shoulders as if expecting reprimand for her misjudgment. None came. The lines in Cullen's face seemed set in stone.

"I sent Warren to Denerim and Alpert to Redcliffe for reinforcements and called in a few small groups of Wardens I knew to be in the area, in Lothering and South Reach. And we've held them since. No heavy losses, just a constant attack and retreat by the Chasind. Had to fire the grass just outside the wall to keep the ladders back. I don't know what they aim to accomplish."

"And the dragon?"

"As far as we can tell, she either came from within the camp or just south of it. Saw her go out and come back in. I thought for sure she was coming for us, especially after we put some arrows in her, but she landed out of sight to the south. As I said, in the camp maybe."

Cullen still said nothing. He pulled off one gauntlet and ran his hand though his beard. He looked very tired and very old. Suddenly, an elf burst into the tent. He was young and wore a set of leather armor that looked new. His brown eyes sparkled with excitement.

"Commander? There's a group of Chasind outside the gates with an emissary. They want to speak with you."

Cullen's mouth jerked down even more at the corners. He exchanged a glance with Thorin, and then muttered, "Come with me," gesturing for Eleanor to follow him. The guards waiting outside fell in behind them.

"Hi, I'm Lauthrin. I've only been a Grey Warden for three months." The elf was trying to talk to Eleanor as she tried to keep up with Cullen. She glanced at him more closely as they walked and noticed the designs tattooed on his face in light ink. Dalish?

He opened his mouth to say more, but she cut him off. "Can we talk more later? I don't mean to be rude, but..." She waved a hand at Cullen's rapidly receeding back.

"Oh? Sure, sure." Lauthrin bobbed his head and fell back, leaving her free to catch up to the other Wardens.

They marched quickly across the grass to a short flight of crumbling stairs that lead up to a walkway above the main gate. Thorin paused at the top of the stairs, making a movement with her hand that made it clear they were not walking out onto the battlement. She had strapped a greatsword to her back before leaving the tent. The blade was nearly as long as the woman was tall but she looked like she knew how to use it. Eleanor followed her upturned gaze to a tower on the opposite side of the gate where two archers crouched in concealment. Three more Wardens with long bows waited near tall narrow slits in the outer wall. Only Cullen was visible to the Chasind outside the gates.

Cullen paced slowly out into the open middle of the wall. Eleanor caught her breath—he was heavily armored, but someone could catch him with an arrow if they wished it.

"Why have you attacked us?" He spread his arms wide, apparently at his ease, speaking down to the Chasind waiting outside the walls.

"It's not for me to say Ser," came the reply. The Chasind's voice was flat and uninflected. "My mistress bids me bring someone to parlay. She said a man and a girl-- a noble who would speak with the voice of the crown."

"Why should I go with you?" Cullen didn't hesitate, but he also didn't recognize the mention of another. Eleanor wondered if they did mean her and how they could know who she was if they did. The thoughts chased themselves in her mind as she bit her lip. What would they do? Was this what Duncan couldn't see?

"We would guarantee your safety. We would leave three of our chieftains in your camp in exchange. You will not be harmed. My mistress wishes to speak with you."

"Will she not come here and treat with me?" Cullen's voice rang out strong and challenging.

The Chasind chuckled but made no answer. The sound of it made gooseflesh rise on Eleanor's arms. She wished she could see who was speaking, but when she tried to lean up to peek over the top of the wall, Thorin pulled her back with a fierce look in her eyes. Ahead, Cullen paced back toward where they waited. He locked eyes first with the dwarf, then with Eleanor.

"You will have my reply within the hour," he said. He turned his back on the Chasind below and returned to where the women and guards waited.

* * *

_Big thanks to Tarante11a for proofreading!_


	6. Chapter 6: For Power

_Edited 3/2_

* * *

"No. Absolutely not. You'll not put yourself in danger like this."

Cullen crossed his arms over his armored chest and shook his head emphatically. He paced in the small space of the tent, two strides bringing him from one wall to the other.

"I am here to protect you, not to take you _into_ danger. I don't like this. You didn't see that fellow. Never seen a Chasind like him before. No, I don't like this at all." He fell silent but continued to pound one fist into the other.

"I know this isn't going as you'd like," Eleanor said, "but this _is_ why I'm here. And somehow they expect me." She leaned forward over the low table and placed her palms flat on it. "I am not a child anymore, Cullen. I'm ready for this." She met his eyes steadily.

Finally he sighed. "Do you know how much you look like your mother? The first time I met her she was almost the same age you are now. Saved us all in the end." He turned away to examine the large map that hung on the wall of the tent.

"You know I can fight. I have been training in diplomacy, negotiation, and statecraft for as long as I can remember. I know what must be done in Ferelden's best interest. If we can come to terms with the Chasind here, I will do it." Her voice was level and commanding, the voice of a ruler coming from a pretty girl.

Cullen looked at her without speaking. "Maker's breath," he said finally. Raising his voice to his trusted lieutenant, "Thorin. Fetch Gillen and that borderlands fellow. And get Lauthrin in here too. Send word to the gate guards that the Chasind party will be admitted in a quarter of an hour."

* * *

At the end of the time he had allotted, Cullen stood squarely in front of the gate that opened into the valley to the south. He looked like a slab of immovable iron in his heavy armor, and Eleanor tried to stand as confidently next to him. She felt like she was shrinking in his shadow behind the whipping edge of his red cloak. He had donned a helm which hid much of his face beneath a stylized eagle's beak and wings. What she could see of his expression was grim—jaw clenched, eyes narrowed. Was he really the same age as her father, whose only wrinkles were the laugh-lines around his eyes?

On either side of Cullen and Eleanor stood the other two Grey Wardens Cullen had summoned. Gillen was a former knight from Gwaren who was also clad in full armor. He carried a huge mace on his belt. The other man was called Arnt. He was a tall man but slim with a fierce face. He wore the Wardens tunic over rough hide armor. Neither of them had spoken to her, but both had bowed politely and stood ready to defend her at Cullen's order.

Lauthrin had been sent high onto the ramparts with a few other archers to watch from the arrow slits. He had given Eleanor a nervous smile before he began climbing the steps with bow in hand. Thorin stood slightly behind Cullen's group with an additional number of Grey Wardens. Tension crackled between the Wardens. Cullen's anxiety had spread either through word or gesture and all stood on alert. There was no sound as Cullen signaled to the men near the gate and it began to swing slowly open. Eleanor held her breath as the Chasind men waiting outside entered and stood before them.

"Warden-Commander." This must be the one she had heard speaking before. He was a small man, pale of complexion, and dressed in dark robes. He bowed to Cullen, who jerked his head tersely in response. The man's head was completely bald and covered with intricate blue tattoos. He straightened and smiled to reveal sharp teeth.

Behind him stood three men so alike they could have been carved from one stone. They were all tall, heavily muscled, and dark skinned with dark hair and beards. They stood impassively, looking neither to the right nor left.

"I am Marlas, Warden. These three are chieftains of their villages among our people. Perhaps they will tell you their names themselves, if they please. Or perhaps not." The pale man clasped his hands together in the sleeves of his robes. "They will stay here while you accompany me to my mistress. You can see her tent from here—it is not far." He pointed back over his shoulder to indicate a taller tent than the others surrounding it. "We shall go now, if it pleases you?" As his eyes flicked over her, Eleanor shuddered. The irises were dark pools indistinguishable from the pupil.

Cullen nodded again as Thorin stepped forward to escort the Chasind aside. They went without comment or expression, following her to a tent nearby. Marlas bent nearly double at the waist in another deep bow. Eleanor walked behind Cullen with Gillen and Arnt to either side of her. She glanced up as they passed out of the gate. Lauthrin had his bow drawn fully with an arrow resting on the string, marking the movement of the robed Chasind.

The dark forms of the tents outside the keep crouched like animals on the plain. They were hunched shapes compared to the ones Eleanor was familiar with, with rounded tops and plainly colored sides. Marlas lead them through one ring of tents before halting outside one large structure. There was no sound except the low flapping of the cloth in the breeze. The encampment seemed completely deserted.

As they hesitated outside, even the Chasind man pausing, a voice came from within.

"Bring our guests inside." It was a woman's voice, low and musical.

Marlas winced slightly, but lifted the flap of the tent with a pained smiled and gestured for them to enter.

Eleanor felt a faint tingle on her skin as she ducked inside, but dismissed it as soon as her eyes adjusted to the low light. Gauzy colored scarves hung from the support poles and large pillows were piled on the carpeted floor. There were no chairs or tables. Small braziers burned sweet-smelling incense and made the air close and warm. Eleanor edged closer to Cullen who was utterly still with his hand on his sword. Arnt and Gillen stopped on either side of the tent's entrance and did not follow further in. Gillen shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot.

"There is no need for such tension, Warden. Please sit," said the same melodic voice. A woman came forward from a dim corner and moved toward them through the filmy hanging fabrics. She touched a brazier negligently and it flared brighter.

"I will stand, thank you." Cullen didn't remove his hand from his sword. His eyes darted from side to side and Eleanor saw him balancing on the balls of his feet. He was prepared for a fight, nevermind the talk of peaceful parlay.

The woman shrugged and sat leaning back on a large pillow. The glow of the lamp fell directly on her now. She was young and beautiful, clad in revealing robes. Her dark hair was knotted loosely on the top of her head. She tilted her head to one side and looked at them.

"You I would speak to," she said to Eleanor, ignoring the men in the tent completely. Her eyes were golden in the lamplight and glinted like a cat's. She raised one slender arm and pointed. Gold bangles on her wrists jingled together.

"We have come to parlay, as you requested," replied Eleanor. "We would like to know why you have attacked this fortress, after living for so long in peace with Ferelden. What grievance have we caused you?"

"You speak for the crown?"

"I do."

The woman smiled slowly. "Where is your brother, Eleanor? Did he not accompany you?"

Three things happened very quickly at the same time. Eleanor gasped in surprise and stepped back. Cullen drew his sword halfway from its sheathe. The woman jumped up from her seat and made a strange gesture with her hand.

"It seems you have me at a disadvantage," Eleanor said quickly. She placed her hand on Cullen's arm. "You know who I am but I do not know your name." She glanced back at the two Wardens behind her and was surprised to see them standing motionless. They had not so much as laid a hand on their weapons.

"Sleep," the woman said. Gillen and Arnt collapsed slowly to the floor.

"What is the meaning of this?" roared Cullen. He took two large strides forward then stopped suddenly. On the floor was a glowing glyph that froze him in his tracks.

"Do be quiet. I want to speak to the princess." The woman sat again on the pillows. Eleanor sank down across from her, hoping her shaking knees didn't show. Who was this woman?

"You have asked my name and you shall have it. I am Kellan. I was not born among the Chasind though they now accept me as one of their own."

"What have you done to the Wardens?"

"Nothing really. They are sleeping. Is it too much to ask to have a few words with you without all the interruptions? Really, men can be so tiresome."

"How do you know who I am?"

"I know many things." Kellan shifted forward and stared at Eleanor intently. "I think you will do without your brother. Yes, I rather do." She pursed her lips thoughtfully.

"Do? Do for what? I came to negotiate peace," Eleanor said. She shook her head. Something was making it very difficult for her to think but she knew this was going all wrong.

With a pained grunt, Cullen broke free from the paralysis glyph and drew his sword. "What sort of trickery is this?" he panted.

"I was considering letting you return when I departed with your princess. If you're going to make trouble…" Kellan leapt lightly to her feet again and held one hand out toward Cullen, palm out. With the other hand, she jabbed two fingers toward the sleeping Wardens.

"A blood sacrifice—for power!"

Thick red tendrils rose from the two Grey Wardens on the floor and flowed into the Chasind woman. Their shapes seemed to wither as hers strengthened. She laughed wildly. The energy shot from her outstretched hand into Cullen, fixing him in place. Eleanor tried to stand but found that she couldn't make it to her feet. She tried again and again as the magic surrounded Cullen, but each time fell back.

"I don't want to hurt you, sister." Kellan's face was fierce and terrible in the light cast from her spell. "Why don't you sleep?" Cullen's screams followed her down into unconsciousness.


	7. Chapter 7: Into the Unknown

_Edited 3/2. I forgot something!_

* * *

"Where is she? What's happened?" Alistair stormed into the tent without preamble.

Thorin dismissed the half dozen Grey Wardens that were gathered around the table and straightened her maps. She rubbed her eyes tiredly. How long had it been, two days?

"Your Majesty."

"There's no time for that. I was on my way here with soldiers when we encountered a messenger tearing north with an urgent message for me. What's going on? Where's Cullen?"

"So you took his horse…"

"And came straight away. Yes. Now will you please answer my questions before I go mad?" Alistair pulled off his metal gauntlets and ran his hands through his hair, making it stand on end even more than it already was.

Thorin debated for a moment. She had only met the king a few times in her years as a Grey Warden. She didn't know him well and didn't know how he would react to any of this.

"Come with me please," she said, and walked out of the tent without waiting for the inevitable questions. She heard him following and quickened her pace across the nearly deserted field. _By the stone and all the ancestors,_ she thought. _A fine mess you've gotten into. At least the king is a Grey Warden himself. Maybe he won't be as hard on the order as another might._

"Where is everyone?" His question brought her out of her thoughts with a jerk.

"South in the valley."

They passed the stables and kennel, walked through an empty practice yard littered with stuffed dummies and targets, and came at last to what looked like a storage area filled with barrels and crates. Here Thorin paused outside a stone enclosure that was fitted with a heavy wooden door.

"I don't know how to explain. I've never been good with words. Ironic now that I'm the Warden-Commander. I'm supposed to lead these men but all I know how to do is fight. It's easier to show you." She pushed the door open on its squeaking hinges and stood aside for Alistair to enter.

Alistair frowned. As he opened his mouth to ask another question, a soft chuckle interrupted him. From inside the rough stone room the chuckle became a laugh, climbing quickly upward to shrieking hysteria.

"What…?" He went inside, wrinkling his nose against a strong stench of sickness and blood.

A small closed lantern hung from the beams at the top of the little room, casting feeble but sufficient light to see by. A man sat in the far corner with his back to the door.

"Cullen?" Alistair started toward him but was stopped by Thorin's hand on his arm. She pulled the door closed behind them.

"Careful," she mouthed.

Alistair looked more closely. Though he could only see Cullen's back he could tell there was something very wrong. Cullen's hair was disheveled and his clothes dirty, something Alistair could never remember happening in all the years they had known each other. Cullen was sitting on the floor in a padded linen shirt and pants of the kind he would wear under heavy armor. He rocked back and forth slightly with his knees clasped to his chest.

"They come back," Cullen said. "They always come back for those that got away. Damned blood mages, trying to get into my head again. I thought I made it all those years ago. They didn't break me. But they come back."

"Blood mages? What blood mages?" Alistair shook off Thorin's hand and crossed the room in two strides. He put his hand gently on Cullen's shoulder. "Where is Eleanor, Cullen?"

Alistair gasped loudly and jumped back as Cullen turned his face up toward him.

"She's gone, gone. _She_ took her. Tried to make me do… things, just like back then." Cullen was grimacing through a ruined face, through ugly and ragged clawed marks over his cheeks and eyelids. "I wouldn't do the things she wanted so she got mad, made me put out my eyes. My. Eyes. I could resist what she wanted at first, the big things, but after awhile I couldn't stop her from making me do everything. She got what she wanted in the end. They always do. You can't fight forever. Even the demons weren't as cruel as she." He was babbling, the words falling out and barely making sense to Alistair's shocked mind.

"Who? Who did this?" He whispered. He couldn't take his gaze from the bloody empty holes where Cullen's eyes used to be.

"The witch! The witch!" The words tore out of Cullen's throat with a laugh and a scream. He doubled over his knees.

Alistair stood stunned, wanting to help his old friend but not knowing how. He reached out hesitantly.

Suddenly Cullen sprang at him. Despite being injured and unarmed, he was incredibly strong. Alistair was pushed back against the wall, his armor clanging loudly and pinching his ribs. He struggled, but could not break Cullen's grip on his neck and shoulder.

"The words get inside your head like worms, until you can hear nothing else," he whispered, bringing his face close to Alistair's. Blood seeped like tears from the corners of his gouged eyelids. "She makes you do it. She _makes _you." His mouth twisted and his fingers tightened.

Then his clenched teeth and taut lips relaxed and he leaned forward. Alistair caught him as he slumped down. A mage stood silhouetted in the doorway, his hand outstretched and surrounded by a blue glow. A sleep spell. The woman hurried forward as Alistair laid the unconscious Warden down on the straw floor. He caught Thorin's eye and followed her outside.

"He has to be asleep for the mages to get anywhere near him," Thorin explained as they walked away. "He killed one who tried to heal him before we knew what had happened. Even blind, he seriously injured three more before we could knock him out. He's been incoherent ever since."

"He's mad."

"Yes. His mind was broken by what happened in the encampment. Come, this way." She led Alistair up a set of wooden stairs to a scaffold that faced south. "They turned him loose, maybe pointed him toward the door. We didn't have a sodding idea what had happened until after he killed Meg and was throwing Rupert through the fences."

They reached the top of the scafford. Leaning on the railing, Thorin turned her face up to the weak sunlight streaming through the clouds. She felt tired, as tired as the oldest greybeard in Tapster's Tavern.

"They took my daughter, didn't they?" His voice was hollow and emotionless. Maybe anger would come later. Now there was only emptiness.

Alistair saw only an empty field with churned turf, as if there had recently been much activity on the plain. There was no evidence left of the Chasind. Shadowy figures moved through the trees and moss-covered rocks at the edge of the grass; Grey Wardens, searching for a trace of the princess.

Thorin bowed her head and said nothing. She couldn't even bring herself to face the king.

"And they just walked out there?" He waved his hand out at the valley.

"The Chasind left three chieftans in exchange to vouch for their safety," Thorin replied.

"Oh?"

"They are dead by their own hands, yet the gatekeepers would swear they carried no weapons into Ostagar. Whatever they did, it was silent. They were under guard the whole time. We didn't know until we went to question them after Cullen returned. There wasn't a mark on them."

Alistair was silent for a long moment.

"The whole ride here, I was preparing myself for the worst possibility. Now that it's here facing me I can't even think." He spoke softly to himself as he put his hands on the railing next to Thorin.

"It's not your fault," he said, turning his face toward her. His eyes were bright with tears. "No one knew this would happen." He blinked and swallowed hard. "I just have to go find her."

* * *

Less than an hour later Alistair was seated on a low stool, trying to compose a letter. He nearly snapped the quill in frustration.

"Dear wife: Lost our daughter. Going after her into uncharted lands with a Dalish Warden and a dog. Be home soon. Please don't send half the country after me. Love, Alistair." He rubbed his forehead. "She'll kill me."

Despite Thorin's ardent objections, Alistair declined her offer of an escort of Grey Wardens. He asked who was the best tracker and once he determined the lad was willing had declared they would set off immediately. Two or three could move faster than many, and every hour counted now. Thorin had sworn under her breath and promised to send patrols after them.

Lauthrin had the new Warden-Commander's admiration; that much was clear. She told Alistair that he had been out in the Wilds almost nonstop since the Chasind vanished, searching the area with his Mabari.

_Vanished. _They didn't say the Chasind left; they vanished. No one had hear or seen anything—it wasn't until Cullen's pounding on the gate roused the watch that anyone noticed anything amiss. They were simply gone as if they had never been there except for the trampled earth and the missing princess.

The elf was quiet, his face closed to Alistair's inspection, but he had agreed quickly to help him track the Chasind south as far as need be.

"Your Majesty. We are packed and ready." Lauthrin stuck his head inside the tent, bowed, and exited again at Alistair's nod.

Alistair finished the letter and sealed it with wax and the imprint of his signet ring. It was insufficient, but it would have to do. He ground his knuckles into his eyes and leaned his head back. From somewhere in the depths of his memory came the words, "Daughters are six years old with skinned knees forever," and he couldn't remember where he had heard them.

"I'm sorry Charlotte," he murmured, picking up the sealed letter. "We all thought this would be easier. I'm in it now without you by my side. By the Maker I will find Eleanor and return to you." Note in hand, he walked out of the tent and turned his face toward the south, determined to find the Chasind witch and his daughter.


	8. Chapter 8: Dreams and Fancies

"Mmm. Wha?" Eleanor stretched and yawned until her jaw cracked. Sunlight fell warm across her face. She rolled onto her side and buried her face into a fluffy pillow.

"I said: it's time to wake up, Mother." The words were accompanied by small hands shaking her shoulders. "Grandmother was looking for you. She says you're late."

Eleanor sat up slowly and looked around. She felt as if she had awakened from a strange dream, but this was her room at the palace. The bed was piled high with rumpled and uneven quilts and pillows she had sewn herself in an effort to be more ladylike. The tall arched window let in the bright morning sunlight in the same way it had always done, in a long shape that traveled from the wardrobe on the far wall to the floor, across the bed, and finally to the red-gold carpet under the window.

"Mother, are you well?"

A girl of about ten years sat on the edge of the bed, her brow creased in worry. Eleanor could tell she had been awake herself for some time, judging by the state of her dress and hair.

"Yes darling, I'm fine," she replied. "I just had a bad dream. Come here; let me fix your braid. You look a fright."

The girl sighed and turned back to. Eleanor untied the knot holding the braid and began combing her fingers through the tresses. The movements were soothing to her and came out of memory. She ran her fingers slowly over the soft curls and began to plait them again. This was familiar, but something nagged at the edge of her mind. She closed her eyes tight and shook her head to chase it away.

Suddenly she found her fingers holding a knife and fork. She started and opened her eyes. She was seated at a long table full of people enjoying a rather large and fancy meal. Everyone was dressed extravagantly and soft music floated above the chatter of cultured voices.

Only the girl was watching her. Eleanor caught her eye and smiled. The girl smiled back and resumed poking a vegetable around her plate. No one else had noticed her jump.

Absently, she forked a bit of the meat into her mouth and watched the people around the table. On her right was the girl from her room and on her left a large man with dark hair. He had his face turned away from her and was talking to someone on his other side. His tunic was rich green velvet, embroidered along the collar and cuffs with gold thread.

"My husband," Eleanor thought. A gold ring flashed on his left hand as he gestured. She turned to the right and looked at the girl who was now carefully handling a glass goblet full of water. "My daughter."

She frowned. A feeling of wrongness began to gather in her mind, but before she could do more than acknowledge it, a loud laugh rang out from the head of the table. Her eyes went unbidden to the source of the sound.

"Father," she whispered.

Alistair was laughing and holding up a cup to be refilled. The sight of him sent a sharp pain through Eleanor's heart, but she didn't know why. She stared hard at him. Something was different, wrong about him. What was it?

As he turned to speak to the nobleman on his other side, the idea came to her suddenly. He was old. The laugh-lined face she remembered had been replaced by one that was definitely wrinkled; not careworn but aged. His hair which had been only moderately threaded with grey was now entirely white. Alistair glanced her way as she sat staring at him and dropped her a wink without pausing in his conversation.

Eleanor dropped her eyes to her plate. Two feelings fought in her: acceptance and strangeness. She looked up again, scanning the faces of the people around her. She recognized none until she came to the old woman sitting at the opposite end of the table. Her mother's blue eyes looked out of this grandmotherly woman's face and her white hair was bound in a thick knot at the back of her neck. The woman smiled as she watched the king chat and laugh.

"That must be Mother," Eleanor thought. "She still looks at him with such love in her eyes."

The feeling of confusion swept over her again and she put a hand to her forehead. Abruptly, the noise of voices disappeared and she was leaning against a wall in a candlelit corridor.

"Easy dear," someone said behind her. Strong arms circled her waist and held her up as if she had stumbled. Looking down, she saw a strong hand and a sleeve of green and gold.

"I feel so strange," she said.

"You didn't have too much wine again, did you?" The man laughed softly and threaded her arm through his.

"No. I suddenly feel like things aren't as they should be. This morning, at dinner, and my parents…"

"Not as they should be? They are as they have been for almost ten years now, wife. And what's wrong with your parents? They are the picture of health and happiness, always spoiling their granddaughter rotten. Everyone is peaceful and happy. What more could you ask for?"

Eleanor hesitated, the strange feeling returning, stronger now. She looked up at the tall man that felt so familiar and actively recalled to mind their courtship, their wedding. It all seemed like a…

"A fairytale," she said. She looked up at him but realized she couldn't see his face. Candles lined the corridor and lit it to sufficient brightness during the evening hours, but somehow a shadow fell across his face. His features were obscured.

"Where is D—," she began. The word would not come out. "My brother?"

"Brother? You have no brother."

"No…? Of course I have a brother. His name is D--." Again she stopped.

"I thought you told me he died when you were children. Are you feeling quite well? What's wrong?" The man reached out to grip her shoulders but Eleanor stepped back. She shook her head from side to side, a wild terror starting up in her.

"Stay back." She pressed her back against the wall. "This is wrong. I'm not married. I have no child. My parents will never be old."

The man took one step forward and then halted. The dancing flames of the candles stopped their perpetual movement and the light became something rigid and fixed like glass. The very air and every small sound in it hardened and stopped. Still the man's face was in shadow.

"All you had to do was accept it." A woman's voice, cold and clear, rang out in the hall. "Accept what your heart desires and sleep. It would have been so easy."

Eleanor swept the passageway with her eyes, tensing. She wore a formal gown, a frippery of a thing all lace and ruffles, but still her hands went to her waist as if expecting to find daggers on a belt there.

"This is a dream, isn't it?" Why had it taken so long to realize the truth of what she had been seeing? "I'm in the Fade. You're tempting me but I am no mage; I cannot become an abomination."

"I am no demon." The woman stepped from behind the frozen man, stepped _through_ him with a dizzying swirl of mist.

"You," Eleanor hissed through her teeth. The sight of the woman from the Chasind camp brought all that was forgotten back in a rush.

"Yes, 'tis I." Kellan smirked and stood with her hands on her small hips. "It would have really been easier if you hadn't fought me. You could have slept here and not awoken. Now I'm afraid I will have to bribe you into good behavior."

She walked lightly to a door in the hall, her robes trailing on the floor. Placing a hand on the handle, she swung it open and stepped behind it, hiding herself from view. Eleanor began to push herself off the wall when Duncan ran through the open door and almost collided with her.

"Thank the Maker I've found you." He was breathing heavily. "I've been all over this place looking for you and I was beginning to lose hope. Something was keeping me confused; I kept turning in circles." He grasped her by the arms. "We have to get out of here. Now." He began to pull her down the corridor.

"Where?"

"Away. It doesn't matter." Duncan looked back over his shoulder, worry etched on his face. Eleanor noticed that he was wearing a mud splashed nightshirt and his feet were bare. There were scratches on the back of his hand.

"It began as a dream but quickly turned into a nightmare. If you don't do what she wants…" Duncan trailed off and turned to run, holding Eleanor's hand firmly in his. He had only taken one long stride when he crashed into something obstructing the corridor and fell heavily. Eleanor put her hand out and felt a crackle of energy just ahead, invisible to the eye but as strong as steel.

Kellan stepped out from her hiding place. Her hands still glowed with the magic that created the obstacle.

"Who is she?" Duncan asked. He got slowly to his feet, wincing with pain. Part of his face was bright red from contact with the magical barrier and his nightshirt was scorched across his chest. Eleanor had never seen her brother this frightened. "Why does she hate us so much?"

"Hate. Yes." Kellan walked toward them slowly, deliberately. Her lips curled in a disdainful smile. Folds of her red robe fell away from her slender arm as she raised it to point at them. "You have no idea." Eleanor blinked, feeling more and more like this was a dream and not real at all. She started to turn toward Duncan, to grasp his arm and run toward the open door, but there was a thick resistance in the air. Too slow, too slow.

"I won't let you hurt her," Duncan shouted. Before Eleanor could stop him he launched himself toward her with his hands curled into fists.

Kellan smirked as Duncan slammed into another invisible wall. He bounced off and stayed on his feet this time, but as he tried to back away, hit another barricade that the girl had created directly behind him. Left then right he turned, only to be blocked in each time.

"It was you," he panted, pressing against the magical prison that confined him, "that I couldn't see. You were the darkness."

Kellan laughed, the throaty sound bouncing off the close walls and filling the hall. She leaned her head back on her long neck and laughed until she was short of breath. Eleanor stood transfixed, screaming at herself in her mind to move, save her brother, run, claw down this frightening woman in front of her. Her body listened to none of these urgent commands but sank slowly into warm rigidity. She raised one hand slowly to her throat and clasped a pendant there that she had forgotten about until now. It was cold to the touch.

Duncan turned his head to her slowly. She could see the cords standing out in his neck. His eyes were huge with panic and fear.

"Eleanor," his voice was hollow and seemed to come from far away, "you have to—"

Kellan waved a hand lazily and he stopped, completely frozen now. The magic encasing him gave off a crystalline shimmer and then hardened into an unyielding mass.

"You," Eleanor gasped. It was so hard to breathe. She fell back against the wall behind her as her vision began to grey at the edges. Before her eyes closed completely she saw Kellan step forward and caress the smooth edge of the solid magic that held her brother.

* * *

_AN~ This story wants to be really long. I hope you don't mind reading it. What do you think so far?_


	9. Chapter 9: Trapped

Duncan stopped to rest. He leaned back against a crumbling wall and pushed his fingers through his hair, which flopped back promptly into his eyes. Slowly the weariness in his legs passed, mostly because he willed it.

Will. That's what it all came down to in the Fade. He never got hungry or needed to sleep. Muscle fatigue from walking was only an illusion: his body thought it should be tired until his mind told it that it was not. He had willed himself to be clothed and he was, had willed boots and a cloak and they had appeared. He could not quite will away the dangers, though he was good at avoiding most of the lesser spirits. After all, he had had lots of practice.

He had no idea how long he had been trapped here. Time did not pass in the Fade as it did in the waking world. A weak light filtered through the clouds in the sky and the Black City hung ever-present on the horizon. He thought he was beginning to see a pattern to the crisscrossing paths of dreamers through this small section of the Fade, but it was not yet enough to give him a sense of time.

Duncan's stomach growled. He told it sternly that it was not hungry and the sensation subsided. He pushed himself to his feet again and started walking.

This part of the Fade was not as large as some others he and Eleanor had explored together. It included the palace and some of its grounds, but none of the city. The phantoms he saw were dreaming guards, servants, and nobles visiting the castle. So far, none of the dreamers passing through had responded to his efforts to get their attention. It was as if he occupied a separate plane—he could see but not interact.

He pondered this as he skirted some hedges in the garden. The edge of the grounds was just ahead and a shimmering barrier stretched across the grass. This was where there should be a portal out, either to another part of the Fade or back into his sleeping body. There had been before, but this was not like the other times. He had always been able to speak with other people he found asleep in the Fade or enter and observe their dreams. He didn't know if mages could do this as well—it was something that he and Eleanor had decided not to elaborate on when they spoke to the Circle of Magi about their strange abilities. The First Enchanter's eyebrows had climbed almost to his hairline at the mention of their knack for navigating the Fade. Usually it took a group of mages, a lot of lyrium, and a special ceremony to allow a mage to travel awake and aware into the Fade. He had Eleanor had done it since childhood; aware of their dreaming state and awakening within it.

The barrier stretched slightly as he placed his hands on it but did not give way to let him pass. He lowered his head and concentrated, focusing his will on the membrane. It bowed outward slightly but did not open to allow him to pass through.

Duncan sighed and dropped his hands. He turned his back on the oily film that hung between this area of the Fade and the next. No wind, no bird sounds disturbed the still air that hung over the garden. He cast a glance at the Black City and started walking toward the other side of his prison, hoping again to find a way out.


	10. Chapter 10: A Hand Forced

Eleanor slowly woke, dragging herself from the darkness of sleep. She opened her eyes the barest slit and peered out from beneath the cover of her lashes to see what was around her. A fire burned brightly in the center of the tent where she lay resting on a coarse blanket-covered pallet. Cold air and snow seeped in under the walls of the tent; despite the fire and its warmth she felt chilled to the bone.

There was a shuffle of movement from the other side of the fire. Eleanor moved only her mostly-closed eyes. She barely breathed. Across the small tent crouched the woman who had attacked Cullen and killed the other two Grey Wardens in her tent outside Ostagar.

The woman sat back on her haunches and leaned forward so her forearms and hands dangled almost to the floor between her knees. Despite the cold she was nearly naked, wearing only a loincloth and a strip of fabric binding her breasts. Her body looked sinuous and as oily as if it was high summer and she had done a day's hard labor in the sun. The muscles in her arms bunched under her skin as she clenched and unclenched her fists. Other than her hands, she did not move and stared steadily into the flames.

_Kellan. That was her name. _

Eleanor dared to raise her eyelids a fraction more. She saw the woman's body had been painted with dark red lines that radiated downward on her arms from her shoulders and on her thighs and shins. Two thick lines had been smeared on her face straight down from her eyes. It looked as if she had been crying tears of blood. Her dark hair straggled down from the nape of her neck and stuck to her face and back.

"I know you are awake."

The woman didn't appear to have spoken and did not even look over. She still stared into the fire. It was then that Eleanor realized that she could not move. A great heaviness pressed her limbs down on the thin pallet. She gasped weakly as an effort to move her head sent a stab of pain down her neck and shoulders.

"Where?" croaked Eleanor. Her lips and throat felt parched.

Kellan did not answer, but reached slowly forward and pulled a small stone pot from the edge of the fire. She removed the lid and sniffed the contents, then poured a small amount of a thick liquid into a bowl. She rose, walked stiffly over to where Eleanor lay, and knelt again beside her.

"Drink." She pushed the bowl under Eleanor's nose. The thick steam rising from the cup smelled strongly of pungent herbs. When she did not immediately comply, Kellan sighed and said, "It will not harm you, silly thing. It's tea."

Eleanor reluctantly parted her lips and allowed the liquid to be poured into her mouth. She swallowed and immediately heat spread from her stomach. A distant tingling started in her hands and feet.

"You should regain feeling in a few minutes now. You were unconscious for a long time and the Fade does not release its guests easily sometimes." Kellan stood again and reached for a robe that was hanging nearby. She belted the garment quickly but did not stop to wipe the oil or markings from her body.

"Where?" Eleanor asked again. Her voice was slightly stronger this time.

Kellan paused in buttoning the neck of her robe and looked down at her, the firelight throwing strange shadows over the planes of her face. Her eyes glittered from beneath her lowered lids.

"We are far to the south of the fortress," she said. "We have passed almost to the southern edge of the wild lands. Soon we will go below ground, beneath the snows."

"Why?"

"That will be revealed in time."

"You killed the other Wardens." Flatly, an accusation.

"Yes."

"Did you kill Cullen too?" Memories were starting to come back, Cullen's screams of pain as she fell into darkness the first among them.

"No. He returned to the fortress before we departed."

"He would never have left me. What did you do to him?" The tingling sensation had increased. This combined with a growing feeling of dread and concern for the taciturn Grey Warden made Eleanor's whole body feel like a huge bundle of nerves.

"I wanted to use him. To bring him with us. He would not submit. I'm afraid that, in the end, his mind was broken," Kellan answered, her voice as even as if she commented on the weather.

"Use him? Maker's mercy, blood magic! You used blood magic, didn't you?"

"Yes. He had quite a bad reaction to it. I have never seen anyone resist so strongly. It was quite remarkable." Kellan smirked and settled down on the edge of the pallet near Eleanor's feet.

"I should kill you."

"You may try. I do not think you will succeed." She twitched the edge of her robe to cover her feet and gazed unconcernedly at Eleanor.

They sat a long moment in silence as Eleanor fought to control her emotions. She wanted to scream and cry at the loss of her protector and for fear of his condition. She wanted to leap up and tear the nonplussed face and hair of this dangerous witch with her fingernails until she invoked a reaction from her. She wanted to sob in fear, for she was certainly a captive. Most of all, she wanted Duncan.

When she had mastered herself, she said slowly, "What do you want with me?" and was slightly pleased to hear her voice barely shook.

"I will not tell you that now," the other woman replied. "I have heard many a tale where the plot is revealed too early and thus foiled by some fool or another. I will keep my council to myself, if it pleases you. If it does not, then you will simply have to wait." She laughed. "It would have been easier indeed had you remained in the Fade."

In the Fade. That memory came back to Eleanor with those words: the dream, the handsome man, and the perfect life. It had been a trap. She had escaped, but Duncan had…

"What have you done with my brother?" she shrieked, and in her fear and anger she pushed herself up onto her numb knees and lurched toward Kellan.

The dark haired woman barely moved her hand and Eleanor fell back, the breath knocked from her body.

"Now, now," Kellan crooned. She leaned forward and brushed Eleanor's hair from her face in a strangely motherly gesture. Eleanor flinched away from the hand and gasped for air. She felt as if she had been punched hard in the stomach.

"Your brother is safe. For now. He wouldn't have been brought into this at all if you had stayed in the dream I created for you. But he meddled, woke you up, and so he's taken your place."

A strong gust of wind pushed at the tent walls and deposited more snow onto the floor. The fire flickered and then burned bright again. Eleanor shuddered.

"He is an accomplished Fadewalker, for all that he is not a mage. I think he will survive longer than most. But not for very long." Kellan examined her fingernails closely. "I think you would do best to aid me, sister, if you are concerned for his safety. One cannot leave one's body uninhabited for long."

"He is your hostage," Eleanor choked. She pushed herself up again and clasped her arms around her knees. "So that I will cooperate with you, is that right?"

Kellan arched her eyebrows and nodded.

"Will he be released unharmed if I help you?"

"Yes. I swear it."

"And what about me?" she asked in a small voice.

"That remains to be seen," Kellan answered smoothly. "I see no reason why you should not be returned safely to your family, if you do not cause trouble."

"I think you are lying. But I will do what you wish, for now. For Duncan."

Kellan shrugged. She pushed the tangled mass of her black hair back from her forehead and looked completely unconcerned about the matter, as if any nuisance Eleanor could create would be insignificant.

The fire cracked loudly as a log split and settled deeper into the coals.


	11. Chapter 11: Denerim, part 2

Charlotte crumpled the paper in her fist, squeezing so tightly that her rings cut painfully into her fingers. Her first response was anger, but that fell away quickly to pain, fear, and worry.

With a gasp she opened her hand and smoothed the wrinkled paper as best she could on the desktop. She ran her fingers over the familiar handwriting as tears began to stream down her face.

Alistair's writing was as well-known to her as her own. He laughed at her when he found out that she saved all of their correspondence over the years, but she couldn't explain why she collected every letter and note he had given her.

She dropped her head down into her hands and read the letter again.

_My dear wife- Things have gone awry at Ostagar. I do not know whether the Chasind were a mere diversion, but they have vanished overnight and are nowhere to be found. Eleanor is missing. I think she disappeared with them. Cullen was…disabled in the attack but I believe that Eleanor is unharmed. I have set out into the Wilds with a competent Grey Warden tracker to follow her. The Wardens will send search parties out as well but they need time to coordinate and we have none to spare. Please don't worry too much, my darling. I'll get our daughter back. Stay in Denerim and keep yourself and Duncan safe. All of my love is with you- Alistair._

So much for keeping Duncan safe, Charlotte thought bitterly to herself. A soft rap at the study door distracted her from reading the letter for the tenth time.

She wiped her face quickly as the door opened and the mage Petra strode in. Petra looked exhausted and slumped into the chair before Charlotte's desk without waiting for an invitation. This behavior didn't bother the queen, however; the red-haired mage had lived at the palace as the Circle Tower's official emissary to the crown for years and neither Charlotte nor Alistair stood on ceremony where their close friends were concerned.

"Any news?" Charlotte tried very hard not to snap.

Petra pinched the bridge of her nose between her fingertips. "I have tried everything I can think of, short of summoning mages here from the Circle and going into the Fade myself." She held up her hand as Charlotte started to protest. "I know, this is a last resort. I know you don't want the First Enchanter any more involved than necessary. He doesn't understand the connection your children have with the Fade and neither do the Templars. We don't want anyone jumping to conclusions."

"He still won't wake up?" Charlotte asked, her heart sinking further. It had been three days since she was unable to wake Duncan from his night's sleep. She had immediately summoned Petra, who had lived at the palace and known both the Theirin children since their birth. Petra was a talented mage and scholar but had so far been unable to find the cause of this unusual sleep.

Petra shook her head, looking even more tired than before. "It's not unheard of for mages to Fadewalk for extended periods past their normal span of sleep. He may return on his own at any time and wake as normal." She smoothed back her graying hair and leaned forward. "He's clearly not been possessed by a Fade spirit. He's awake and aware somewhere in the Fade."

Charlotte leaned back in her chair. She suddenly missed her old friend Wynne very much with her bottomless store of book knowledge. Surely there was some musty old tome in the Tower library somewhere that could help them.

"How long can his spirit be in the Fade before…" She trailed off, not wanting to put words to her fear.

"Before his body begins to waste away?" Petra had no such compunctions, finishing Charlotte's sentence with her usual brusqueness. "I put some wards and spells on him that will protect him. Don't worry."

"If he doesn't wake in five more days," Charlotte said, "I will send a messenger to the Circle and inform the First Enchanter."

Petra reached across the desk and took her friend's hand. "From what I've studied about Duncan's previous travels in the Fade, I don't think he's in any danger. There may be something that temporarily prevents him from waking. Please try not to worry too much. You could go spent some time with him, speak to him. Maybe it will help him find his way back to his body. Now, if you will excuse me, I have a bit more research I want to do." The mage rose and left the room.

Don't worry, don't worry. Charlotte was getting tired of being told not to worry when that seemed to be all that she could do. Two weeks ago her biggest concern was spending as much time with her husband as possible and trying to screen potential suitors for her children. Now Alistair and Eleanor were in danger south in the uncharted regions of Ferelden and Duncan was lost somewhere in the Fade.

She sighed, thinking of the explanations the First Enchanter and the Knight Commander would require should she need to request their help. She didn't trust the Templars entirely, especially not with deciding the fate of her children and did not want them involved unless it was absolutely necessary.

Though she did not regularly attend services at the Chantry or consider herself a religious person, Charlotte found herself sending a prayer to the Maker for the safety of her family. She folded her hands on the desktop like she her mother taught her and asked the Maker and Andraste to bring them all home safely.


	12. Chapter 12: Through Korcari Wilds

Alistair swore under his breath as he stumbled on another soggy hummock and his foot splashed into the cold water of the bog. He paused to shake the water off his boot and looked up for a trace of Lauthrin. The shadows were lengthening rapidly, throwing much of the ground under the thick trees into darkness, but he could hear the excited bark of Wulf coming from not to far away.

Lauthrin materialized out of the thicket to Alistair's left. He moved silently through the undergrowth and soft mud, the leaves and branches barely slapping against his leather armor as he brushed past them. Alistair started slightly and then straightened, still shaking water off his foot.

"We should camp here for the night," the elf said. His fingers worked quickly at the rope knot holding the supplies bag to his back. He dropped it to the ground and began pulling things from it: tents, cook pot, water skins.

"This is the largest patch of moderately dry land around," Lauthrin continued as he worked. "South of here there is much more water. It will be slower going."

Alistair set his mouth in a firm line. Traveling any slower was not much of an option. With every passing moment he could feel the distance between himself and his daughter grow. He turned away without answering and pulled a small knife from his belt to begin cutting firewood.

Later that night, after they had eaten and were wrapped in their blankets against the increasing chill of the night, Alistair lay staring up into the sky. He wondered how he could sleep. Every time he closed his eyes he saw Cullen's bloodied face, or Eleanor telling him not to worry as she left for Ostagar with the Grey Wardens, or Duncan and Charlotte watching him leave Denerim from the courtyard of the palace.

Lauthrin cleared his throat. "Your Majesty?"

"You don't have to call me that, Lauthrin. Call me Alistair."

"Umm, yes. Alistair. Anyway. I think once we get through the swampier area, maybe one more day, we should begin to see the snow and ice of the uncharted part south of the Korcari Wilds."

Alistair did not reply. The sound of Wulf's snores filled the silence.

"I think it will be tougher going, but easier tracking," Lauthrin continued. "The land will probably be flat and we can follow a straighter course along their trail. We will have to carry more supplies with us out of the swamps. Wood especially."

Alistair still did not answer. He lay quietly with his hands laced beneath his head, still thinking of his lost child.

Lauthrin cleared his throat again nervously. "Did you know, Your Maj—I mean Alistair, that my parents knew you? They lived in the Dalish camp in the Brecilian Forest that had all the trouble with the werewolves years ago? It was before I was born. They said they remembered you and the queen and your friends and how you saved our clan from Witherfang."

"Yes, I remember that. What were their names?" A small smile now tugged at Alistair's lips as he recalled the adventure.

Years ago that was, when he and Charlotte were both so young and desperate, fighting for their lives against the darkspawn. How he had loved her, even then, before either of them had a chance to consider the future and what it held, before either of them had a chance to consider the possibility for loss and heartbreak.

"Cammen and Gheyna. Do you remember them?" came the answer.

Alistair's face froze as he briefly considered whether to laugh or to cry. Cammen, the worst hunter's apprentice in the camp, whose son he had been following through the wilderness and trusting to lead him to his kidnapped daughter.

"Oh, don't worry," Lauthrin said quickly, as if he knew what Alistair was thinking. "I'm a much better woodsman than my father. He got better after he married my mother and taught me a little, but mostly I learned from Master Varathorn. Especially woodcraft."

Feeling his stalled heart begin beating again, Alistair let out his breath in what he hoped was an inaudible sigh of relief. The young Dalish did seem competent enough at tracking, and had even shot a few small animals for dinner, while he himself struggled just to put his feet down on firm earth and keep from sliding into the swamp.

"I guess we better turn in," the elf said after another long hush passed between them. "We should get an early start. Good night."

There was a rustle as he turned over in his blanket on the other side of the fire. Alistair resumed staring at the stars. He hoped the young man wouldn't be too offended by his silence; he just did not feel like speaking. Worry nagged at his guts and heart every moment. Alistair closed his eyes again and this time fell into a troubled, dream filled sleep.


	13. Chapter 13: Fade Memories

The days and nights that passed blurred into one another until Eleanor could hardly distinguish one from another. She was being drugged certainly, but she could not determine the source. Was it the food, the water, or the strange thick smoke in the tent at night? Was it a spell? Her head felt heavy and her senses were dull and slow.

During the days she was tied onto the wide back of a wooly ox and it was all she could do to remain upright as the animal plodded through the snow and ice. She and the witch woman, who rode ahead of her on another beast, were escorted by a half-dozen shadowy figures in thick fur cloaks. They were her honor guard, picked from the Chasind army that followed her to Ostagar. The men were silent and ever-present.

At night she was removed from the placid ox and carried to the same tent where she had first encountered the witch, where Cullen had lost his mind and his sight. She was laid on the same thin pallet and fed. The Chasind retreated and surrounded the tent. The witch woman still did not speak or explain; she only watched until Eleanor fell into a deep and dreamless sleep every night.

An almost dreamless sleep.

Duncan knew that time did not pass in the Fade as it did in the waking world. He tried to measure the number of nights that had gone by by counting the times he saw the same people as they slept and dreamed on consecutive nights.

He abandoned this method when he saw Arl Finn in seventeen different dreams and his cousin Colin in four in what seemed like the same span of time.

The Fade barriers that he had passed before with no resistance were suddenly closed to him. He circled the dream version of the palace in Denerim countless times. The paths he walked seemed to focus on it, returning him there again and again.

Duncan returned to the interior of the palace after extensive searches of the surrounding area. He had reached a point where he could not pass—the barrier of his prison, he assumed. He walked with his head down, eyes on his bare feet, not paying attention to where he went, when suddenly he was in the middle of a dream.

He froze. He had wandered into the main audience hall without realizing it. Brightly dressed nobles were gathered and talking amongst themselves. Music was playing, but like all things in the Fade it was distant and insubstantial.

Suddenly the doors at the far end of the hall slammed open and everyone turned to look. Duncan turned with them. He saw his father as a young man, dressed in gleaming armor and marching up the carpet to the dais at the head of the room. Close behind him followed his mother. He recognized the mage Wynne and the Orlesian bard Leliana, both of whom he and his sister had known. He assumed the others were also his parents' companions when they fought the Archdemon, though he knew them by their descriptions not by sight.

The group passed him and the assembled crowd and continued to the very front of the room. Duncan saw his father reach out and squeeze his mother's hand before climbing the steps to the throne and kneeling in front of the Revered Mother to receive her blessing.

"It seems like so long ago."

Duncan jumped as a voice spoke in his ear. He spun on his heel and stepped back, brushing through the immaterial outline of a noblewoman beside him. Her form dissipated like mist in the sunlight.

"I dream of this day often. It's a very happy memory for your mother and me." Alistair watched his dream-self addressing the people, holding his hand out to Charlotte, who took it and joined him on the dais.

Duncan swallowed several times before he tried to speak. "Father?"

"You know how sometimes you have a dream where you're in it, and sometimes you have a dream where you're watching from somewhere else? I think it's like that," Alistair said. He rubbed his chin, his eyes distant. "And I was thinking of you right before I fell asleep."

When he turned back to face his son, he had a much harder look on his face. "Do you know what's happened? With Eleanor?"

"Some of it." Duncan quickly explained what had happened the night he had been in his sister's dream.

"Maker's breath," Alistair muttered. He ran his fingers through his hair. "We're following them. I and another Grey Warden. I don't know where they're going, but we're pretty close behind." He paced in a small circle before continuing.

"I don't like this. Something's at work here. Something big and we're divided up. What about you, are you safe?"

Duncan shrugged. "Relatively. I don't think anything will harm me here. I'm just stuck. I don't think Mother will let the Chantry exorcise me or anything." He made a gesture with his hands that made Alistair smile, a flip of the palms that Charlotte often made and both children had picked up. "I'll figure it out eventually." He paused.

"I can hear her when she speaks to me," Duncan continued. His brows drew together over his Theirin nose.

"Your mother?"

"Yes. She said some mages from the Circle are on their way to the palace. She's also been in constant contact with the Wardens at Ostagar. How much time has passed since Eleanor was captured?"

Alistair told him and Duncan tried hard to keep his face blank and impassive. Even in the Fade where anyone could reshape reality to some extent his father looked tired and worried. It would not do to worry him further.

They stood in silence for a few minutes, watching the dream images of Alistair and Charlotte embrace and turn and then speak again.

Alistair said suddenly, "I'm waking up. Come here." He held out his arms to his son and Duncan stepped into them, hugging his father tightly. After a moment the lights and sounds around him faded and Alistair was gone, awake somewhere far south of the Grey Warden fortress and ready to continue on his missing daughter's trail.

Duncan let his arms drop back to his sides. He looked back over his shoulder at the washed-out Fade version of the familiar room in his home and then turned quickly to leave.


	14. Chapter 14: The Plot

Eleanor's head started to clear on the day they began to travel underground. She didn't even consider questioning the why or how of it. She was just relieved to regain some of her awareness.

Even still dulled, she knew well enough to still act as if she were being affected by the slowness of her senses. The first time she noticed it, she awoke on her pallet before anyone else had. She lay very still until she heard the witch stir and wake, until she was poked and told to get up. That day she could hold her head up a bit higher and focus her eyes on her surroundings. Mostly she noticed the witch carrying her bow—_Mother's bow!_—over her shoulder.

That night she ate and drank as normal. It was inescapable; she was being watched so closely. But instead of falling instantly into a deep sleep, she lay down and her mind whirled. She thought carefully about what she remembered from the journey across the ice, about what had happened at the camp outside Ostagar, and about what she should do now. She had to do something. Eleanor had no idea what this Kellan woman wanted with her or her brother, but she had to save him.

The witch clearly commanded powerful magic. She had trapped Duncan in the Fade alone. Or maybe that had been a trick in order to get Eleanor to come with her? To what end? She turned the questions over and over in her mind until at last she fell asleep.

That night she did dream, but upon waking she could not remember the details. It had been a dream about Duncan—a rather bedraggled and desperate Duncan who had been shouting something at her through a shimmering barrier. It had looked like a regular Fade barrier which normally parted easily to them, but this one was as thick as stone. He had pounded his fists on it and shouted, then pointing to his mouth and forming words carefully for her to read. What had he said…?

The next day of travel was a long one. Kellan sped their pace through the tunnels. An eager light came into her golden eyes as she looked around, touching the stone walls of the tunnel. They marched downward, through open chambers, narrow passages, and sharply angled channels. The air grew increasingly warm.

Eleanor was walking directly behind Kellan when she stopped abruptly at the entrance to a large and unlit cavern. She sensed the space opening up in front of them, so different from the close dank feeling of the rock tunnels pressing in from all sides. A warm breeze pushed the sweaty curls back from her face.

"This is it," Kellan breathed as she stepped forward. She raised her arms and summoned a ball of green light that floated above her.

Eleanor tensed. The witch's attention was totally absorbed in her spell and the cave. She could sense the strange Wilder folk that had served as escort behind her, waiting for her to step farther into the cave so they could come out from the narrow passageway.

The black-haired witch took another step forward, away from Eleanor and the cavern entrance.

"This is the only change I might get," Eleanor thought. The past days seemed so dreamlike, the danger intangible, but in this moment everything took on the sharp, crisp lines of reality.

She spun and sank down into a low crouch, moving quickly backward toward the dark shape behind her. She heard a quick intake of breath from the man but before he could react further she snatched the short sword from his belt and ran him through. The sword came back out cleanly, thank the Maker, and did not snag on his rough hide armor or cloak.

The man behind gave a shout and rushed forward empty-handed, but he tripped on the slumped body and went sprawling into Eleanor. She had to back-pedal wildly out of the passage to keep her feet beneath her.

"Four of them," she muttered, watching with her sword raised as they came slowly into the open space.

The witch light was brighter now and for the first time Eleanor was able to see these… things… clearly as their faces were illuminated. They were not Chasind as she had originally thought, but horrible hybrid creatures somewhere between men and monsters. Their bodies were hidden in shaggy fur cloaks. The arms that protruded and hands that gripped their weapons were gnarled and clawed. The one that had pushed her had a snout and long yellow teeth. It snarled as it drew a hammer from its belt.

Eleanor swallowed hard, and then forced her mind to slow from the reeling shock. She narrowed her eyes. _Remember_—the lessons returned to her. She could almost smell the hay in the practice yard as she recalled the weapons master and her long hours of practice. _Focus._

She let out a long breath and squeezed the pommel of the short sword tighter. The creature closest to her tensed as if to spring. She was ready.

A bowstring twanged and suddenly the hammer-wielding monster fell, a grey feathered arrow protruding from its back. Before she could react, another arrow streaked out of the darkness and buried itself in the neck of a second creature that was turning back toward the passage. Two figures emerged into the light—the first one was dressed in a long grey tunic and fitting another arrow to his large bow, and the second—

"Father!" Eleanor gasped.

Alistair charged into the cavern, slamming the nearest creature back with his shield. It fell backward and he stabbed it quickly before the second monster reached him. The bowman's arrow hit the remaining fur-cloaked creature high in the shoulder, spinning it halfway round. It grunted and snarled, but Alistair finished it before it could turn back and attack. All four of the twisted men were defeated before Eleanor could catch her breath.

"Eleanor, oh Maker. Are you hurt?" Alistair sheathed his sword and ran forward, gathering her in his arms.

Eleanor's cheek was pressed against the cool metal of the armor covering his chest. For a moment she could hardly believe any of this was happening. Tears filled her eyes. Then her arms went around her father's neck and she clung to him.

"How…?"

"We followed. From Ostagar. What…?"

"Why have you…?"

All at once they spoke. And then, over top all their voices:

"Well. Isn't this a lovely family reunion?" A clear voice rang out, cold and high.

Alistair pushed Eleanor away from him and his hand went to his sword hilt. They had not seen the woman when they entered the large cavern, and Eleanor had completely forgotten her. Now she strolled toward them. Her thin arms were folded over her breasts and the glowing light she had summoned bobbed over her head.

"I demand to know who you are and why you've taken my daughter." Alistair's voice was commanding.

"Oh yes. I suppose it is time for the tell-all," Kellan replied. She laughed without humor. "What a fitting audience for it too. I suppose it is time you heard everything." She paused, her yellow eyes staring straight into Alistair's. "Father."

Alistair jerked in surprise to the last word, spoken so flatly and matter-of-factly. He pulled his sword halfway from it's sheathe. The witch made a sharp movement of her hand, and all three of them were surrounded by a faintly shimmering paralysis barrier.

Kellan ignored Lauthrin, her eyes moving quickly over the faces of Alistair and Eleanor. The former glared at her with narrowed eyes, but the latter only looked confused and frightened. Kellan laughed again.

"What, did you not tell your children about your tryst with my mother? About their sister?" Her mouth twisted as she spoke.

"I never, that is… We didn't…" he stumbled over the words. "She left—before the battle. I never knew what became of her. I didn't know about you."

Kellan smirked. "Oh, I know about all that. I found out when I read her grimoires. Fascinating stuff really." She inspected her fingernails and buffed them on the sleeve of her robe. "But allow me to elaborate for _her_ sake." She jerked her chin at Eleanor.

"No, let me," Alistair said. He strained to turn his head and could not, but was facing Eleanor enough to catch her gaze. "It was the only way to defeat the archdemon without one of us dying. Your mother and I were the only two Grey Wardens left in Ferelden. Morrigan told us that if… if I conceived a child with her before the battle, the archdemon's soul would enter the child instead of your mother or I. It would have killed us."

"And the archdemon's soul did. And I am that child," Kellan finished. Something blazed in her eyes but Eleanor could not tell what it was. Triumph? Pity?

"A child changed before its birth, absorbing the soul of an Old God. Who could have know what would happen?" Kellan tapped her chin in mock-solemnity and paced in front of them. "Flemeth knew. And Mother knew."

"Where is Morrigan?" Alistair asked. "Where have you been living?"

"I slew Mother years ago to gain her secrets, as you did Flemeth for her before that." She continued to pace.

"What does this have to do with me and Duncan?" Eleanor's voice was shaking.

Kellan stopped and turned slowly toward her. "You two are something different, as I am different, but we three are not the same." A smile curled her red lips.

"I don't understand. What is this about?"

"Your parents defeated the archdemon. Though its soul did not pass into them, it passed through them in its search for the brightest beacon. It changed them as surely as the taint has changed them. And that has changed you." She stood directly in front of Eleanor, staring into her face.

"I have the soul of an Old God in human form, not in the form of a dragon tainted by the darkspawn. I have cognizance that the archdemon never possessed." Her voice tolled like a bell. "I am Urthemiel, worshipped by the Tevinter in ages past. I have come here to reclaim my true form and return to the Imperium to rule again!"

With these last words, she flung her arms upward, sending the glowing ball of light high into the air. It expanded rapidly to illuminate the entire cavern. Eleanor gasped as she saw the intricate carvings covering every surface of the walls and ceiling and the huge bones that lay in careful mounds throughout the room.

"This is a dragon graveyard, deep beneath the frozen lands south of Ferelden. I learned about it from Chasind shaman years ago. It is not Tevinter in origin but it is suited to my purpose. There was only one thing I was missing to complete the ritual and cast the spell: your blood."

Kellan reached behind her and drew out a long curved knife from her belt. She brought her arm up and drove it hard into Eleanor's chest just above the top of her armor. She pulled the knife out and pressed her hand tight against the wound. Her fingers and sleeve were quickly drenched in the gout of blood.

"No!" Lauthrin and Alistair both shouted, though Alistair's voice was by far the loudest and most anguished.

"Take me instead," he begged, watching in horror as Eleanor's eyes rolled up in her head and she sagged against the magical binding around her.

Kellan paid him no attention as she lowered her head and began to chant.


	15. Chapter 15: Life and Death

"Duncan, they're coming. Soon. You must wake up. I don't know what they will do."

The words drifted through the air to Duncan's ears as he was circling the Fade palace for the thousandth time, still trying to decipher its puzzle. He paused, head cocked.

"The dreams, Duncan. I'm so afraid."

Nebulous, whispered. His mother's voice. She must be sitting beside his body, speaking to him. He had never heard her sound so unsure of herself in the waking world.

"Bring them back. Please bring them back."

He closed his eyes, intent on the sound. It was as if she spoke directly into his ear. The words were repeated—a prayer, a litany. They filled him with a strange sensation. He felt a gathering inside him, an odd tingle that raised the hair on his scalp and gooseflesh on his arms and neck. He _concentrated._

* * *

Alistair strained against the paralysis spell that held him

"Maker, please," he panted between clenched teeth. "I'll do anything. Help me, Andraste."

Kellan and Eleanor shrieked in unison as magical energy arced between them. Kellan staggered backward, one palm held to the side of her face.

Suddenly the paralyzing barrier was gone and Alistair lurched forward. He twisted involuntarily and knocked Kellan aside with the flat part of the armor on his shoulder. She spun away and fell off to one side.

He paid no attention to her but fell to his knees beside Eleanor, who lay in a crumpled heap when the spell dropped her. The blood still flowed sluggishly from the wound on her chest. Her eyelids fluttered open in her deathly pale face as he tried to gather her up in his arms.

"Father…?" She tried to speak but the word came out in a croak. "Daddy?" Then her eyes rolled up in her head and she sagged back against his arms.

Tears obscured Alistair's vision as he called her name. He felt a hand on his arm and came very close to punching Lauthrin in the face with a mailed fist before he remembered the Grey Warden's presence.

"Lay her down," the elf instructed gently. "I'll try to help her." He stared into Alistair's grief-twisted face and tried to put as much empathy in his eyes as possible. It took several long moments of reassurance, but finally Alistair nodded and allowed Lauthrin to touch his daughter. He snuffled and tried to wipe his eyes on the leather palms of his gauntlets as the younger man began removing phials from the pouches on his belt.

From the phials came many different leaves and roots. He took a few deep green long-bladed leaves and ground them into a rough pulp between his fingers. He worked quickly but carefully, aware at all times of the labored breathing and blue-tinged lips of the girl in front of him.

Finally Lauthrin wrapped the leaf pulp into a small bundle with a few different leaves and took a length of white cloth from his pack. He held them up, showing them to Alistair.

"These will stop the bleeding and clean the wound," he said. "I need you to hold the bandage in place. Can you do that?"

Alistair nodded. He seemed to have regained some control over himself but his face was still lined and pale.

Lauthrin bent and pressed the leaves into the deep cut. Eleanor stirred but did not make a sound. He placed the bandage atop the wound and showed Alistair where to apply pressure. The elf then withdrew another phial from his pouch, this one full of a deep red liquid that swirled against the glass container. He carefully slid one hand under Eleanor's neck to support her head as he held the potion to her lips. The reddish gold curls that had escaped her braid brushed against the back of his hand. When he was content that most of the liquid had gone down her throat instead of spilling out of the corners of her mouth, he gently lowered her head back to the stone floor. Lauthrin made a quick check of her breathing and her heartbeat, and observed that some color had returned to her face.

He had just opened his mouth to tell Alistair that he thought she would recover when a low chuckle interrupted him. Both Grey Wardens snapped their heads around at the sound.

Kellan lurched to her feet from where Alistair had knocked her away. Her dark hair spilled down around her shoulders and she was still holding one hand to her face. The sleeve of that raised hand was bunched around her elbow, heavy with Eleanor's blood.

Alistair leapt to his feet and drew his sword in one swift movement. He took two steps forward.

"You raise your sword against me, Father?" Kellan called out in a mocking tone. "What have I ever done to you?" She laughed again and the sound spiraled upward toward insanity.

He made no answer except to take another step toward her.

"What have I ever done to anyone except wish to be free, worshipped by thousands, maybe receive a few sacrifices? Is that so unreasonable? Instead I have been used, abandoned by those who claim to need me, and forced into a life I did not want." A haze of magic rose around her, partially obscuring her robed form.

"I was a god. Then I was discarded, left to rot. But the darkspawn promised more. They promised adoration; they promised revenge. I was no longer beautiful or as powerful as before, but I had a faithful army to spread the Blight at my command. _My command_." She shimmered, for a moment seeming to disappear completely. But she was not gone, Alistair saw. She was changing, becoming something else.

"And then to be born into the body of a human, a weak human child. I had all of my memories but none of my powers. And my mother trained me, yes, but used me. Manipulated me. Until the day I killed her I hated her. And I hated you, and the Grey Wardens, and your perfect family for having any bit of happiness at my expense."

There was a flash of light so bright that the Wardens cried out and shielded their faces with their hands. When it died away and they could see again, where the woman had stood there was the wedge-shaped head of a dragon.

The witch-light glinted off its purple hued scales and its yellow eyes fixed them with a stare of pure hatred. The head arced up on its slender neck and the archdemon of Alistair's nightmares stood before him. Its body was not deformed and pocked by the Blight as it had those years before, but it was beautiful and whole, deadly and wonderful. She spread her wings wide in the confines of the cavern and her voice thundered in their heads.

"I will have my revenge on all of you now, and I will return to the Imperium to regain my rightful place. I will rule this land for a thousand years and all will love Urthemiel again."

She drew in her breath, stoking the furnace inside her lungs to summon a blast of fire that would char these troublesome humans before her to a crisp. Alistair stood between his daughter and the dragon and drew his shield, trusting to its meager protection to hold the dragonflame from his injured daughter.

The dragon roared and the cavern went bright white before his eyes. For a moment he felt like he was floating, as if he had just taken a hard blow to the head, and then—

* * *

"_Bring them home. Please bring them home."_


	16. Chapter 16: The Battle's End

Charlotte woke early on the day the envoy from the Circle of Magi arrived at the palace. She grimaced at her face in the mirror as she twisted her hair up into a simple coil at the top of her head. It was lined, tired, a worried woman's face; not at all the face that had looked out at her from the glass only a fortnight ago. She felt the weight of her troubles press down upon her as she rose and dressed in a simple tunic and trousers. There would be no radiant queen in sweeping gowns today. Paused in front of her wardrobe, she drew out another garment. She stood looking at the old leather vest, running her fingers over its worn front and tarnished brass studs. Without knowing the reason, she pulled it on over her tunic and buttoned it with deft fingers. It fit as well as it always had, hugging her ribs and blousing her sleeves at the shoulders. In another moment she was gone from the room, walking quickly down the hall to meet the mages.

* * *

Wind stirred Duncan's hair from the back of his neck. He shivered and looked around quickly. It was never windy in the Fade—in fact, he could never recall the air being anything but heavy and still as if inside a room that had been long closed off from the rest of the house. The sensation made him uneasy. Something was happening.

He felt a crackle on his skin. Looking down at his arms, he saw the dark hairs there were standing on end, like what happened when you pulled off a wool sweater too quickly. There was a metallic tang on his tongue. He turned in a slow circle, surveying the washed-out landscape of the Fade and its wavering borders. The taste he had come to associate with the working of magic. Though he had no affinity for it himself, he was somewhat sensitive to its presence and flow through people and things. Someone was casting a spell and it was a big one.

* * *

Charlotte shrank back at first as the magic leapt up between the three mages, connecting them in a triangle around Duncan's bed. When the bolt—bright sizzling blue, the color of nothing natural, she thought—arched toward and then struck Duncan, she took two long strides toward him. Another step brought her to the edge of the magic but she could not pass. After a moment it ceased to matter three things happened all at once: the mages cried out as one and collapsed, breaking the spell; the wide bowl of lyrium that the Fade-walking ritual usually required shattered, sending the deep blue liquid spilling out onto the carpet; Duncan sat up in his bed and immediately locked eyes with her.

His gaze was unfocussed though he stared right at her, almost as if he saw through her. Then he shook himself and said, "Home."

He swung his legs over the side of the bed, careful not to put a bare foot down on a shard of broken pottery, and Eleanor ran to him.

"Not now, Mother," he said, embracing her quickly but then releasing her and gathering some clothes from the chest at the foot of his bed. He began pulling them on hastily.

Charlotte started to speak, but was cut off by an extremely loud clap of thunder and screams from outside.

Duncan did not look up but quickly retrieved the sword and shield that were leaning against the wall by his bureau. As he buckled the belt around his waist, he cocked his head at his mother. Charlotte had a dozen questions to ask—at least—all at the same time, but none would come loose from her tongue.

"No time," Duncan said, seeing the look in her eyes and reading it correctly. "Quickly, the daggers on the desk there. We must go."

Charlotte pressed her lips together and obeyed, snatching the knives up before following him out the door at a run.

* * *

The scene in the large square just inside the palace walls was pandemonium. There had been a few guards on patrol, a few in the guard house waiting for their meals or for their shifts to change, but they had not been prepared for eight tons of angry dragon to instantly appear among them.

Fortunately the guard captain had been among them and, though times were peaceful, the men were well trained. They responded quickly to this threat on the royal family though they did not understand it, and as a result they died quickly.

The men who rushed in with spears were slain first with tooth and claw and sweeping tail. They had no experience with dragons and charged it as if it were a dumb beast. This creature was doubly not so, being not only an intelligent animal but also a shape-changed human and, if you believed her, the embodiment of a dead god.

Her wrath was at first focused on the men before her in the cavern, the Warden King and the elf who defied her over the bleeding body of the girl. Being stuck with spears and arrows made her angrier and she turned from Alistair and Lauthrin for a moment, who were just as surprised by the sudden change of place and had not noticed the brightly glowing pendant that slipped from the bodice of Eleanor's leather armor.

The high dragon had her back to Alistair, Lauthrin, and Eleanor, who had been deposited almost at the palace steps. When Charlotte and Duncan came running from the double doors that lead into the square, they would have tripped on them had they not been stunned into stillness by the sight of the glittering beast thrashing her wings and roaring loudly.

Duncan, somehow considerably less surprised by the events than any of the rest of them, dropped his shield and went immediately to his sister lying still on the cobblestones. While Charlotte stared at the dragon that was suddenly rampaging outside her front door, he knelt beside Eleanor and pressed his hands over the blood-stained bandage on her chest. His hands glowed briefly, and then Eleanor coughed and opened her eyes.

"Duncan? How…?"

He shook his head. "I don't know. I don't understand any of this. Can you get up?"

She sat up with his help, wincing at the pain, but no fresh blood darkened the bandages.

"Alistair."

He turned to look at Charlotte over his shoulder, his face set in grim lines.

"She tried to kill Eleanor and wants to kill us. I don't know what's happening and we haven't time to explain right now. We have to fight," he said flatly.

Charlotte nodded and drew the daggers from her belt. Just like the old days, she thought. Evil from all sides. She stepped up beside Alistair's slightly forward position, ready to defend her home and family. He turned to look at her determined profile as she watched the dragon's back and he loved her more than ever. He embraced her as Duncan and Lauthrin joined their position with weapons drawn.

Charlotte kissed Alistair hard on the mouth, cutting off the words he wanted to say.

"Turn me loose," she said. "There will be plenty of time for explanations after we have dealt with this."

He smiled and did as she said, for even now the dragon had finished with the guardsmen and was turned her attention back to them.

A dragon is not as slow as it may appear for all its size, but it can be faster than a striking snake on occasion. The same may be said of a lightly armored well-trained rogue, even of one past her best years as an adventurer. Charlotte actually outpaced the young Lauthrin as she darted toward the dragon's hind legs, dodging the swinging tail and stamping feet. The two harassed the beast from behind and beside as Alistair maintained its focus, he being the only one in proper armor. Duncan did his best but could not take the brunt of the attacks from tooth and claw on his shield alone.

The battle was a long one, and the fighters were reinforced by guards from other parts of the city. The mages from Duncan's room regained their senses and rushed to help; lending much needed healing and relieving fatigue of all involved.

But the dragon was driven by an eon of anger and resentment, and in the end no one could prevent the blow that crushed Alistair cruelly to the stones under her claws. Charlotte and Duncan redoubled their attacks to drive her attention away from Alistair as she savaged him with her teeth, but the blow that ended it came from Eleanor.

She stood swaying at the edge of the battle and loosed an arrow from Falon'din's Reach, which she had discovered lying near her as she cast about for something to attack with. She did not know or care how it came to be there instead of on the floor of the cavern under the snows south of the Wilds. The arrow flew straight into the dragon's eye, shattering the glowing orb and sending her reeling in pain. The dragon roared, flapped her great wings, sent everyone near her to the ground with the force of the gale, and disappeared as quickly as she had appeared in the first place.

No one noticed as they rushed to Alistair, who did not stir from the cobblestones of the square. Charlotte, Eleanor, and Duncan crowded close, all of them with tears streaming down their cheeks. Alistair was covered in blood, his armor dented and pierced in a dozen places, but he opened his eyes when he heard his family calling to him.

"Everyone's safe?" His voice was faint, hardly more than a whisper.

"Yes, Father. The healers…"

Alistair shook his head painfully from side to side. "Too late for that," he said, and focused on Charlotte. "It was almost time, you know. I'm glad to see you…before." He raised his hand slightly and she clasped it to her breast, biting her lips furiously to keep from bursting into hysterics.

He could not be dying but she could see the strength draining from him as he spoke words that she did not hear to their children. Dark blood continued to puddle beneath him though she barely noticed soaking the legs of her trousers as she knelt at his side. Her eyes were fixed to his face as if trying to memorize what she had seen daily for the past twenty-five years. It had not been enough time; her mind railed against the unfairness of it all.

"Maker…" Alistair grimaced and gasped quickly, "I love you. You have been my joy. This life… I have been thrice blessed." His mouth twisted and then went slack, his eyes sliding closed. He moved no more.

Eleanor and Duncan leaned against each other ashen-faced, weak with fatigue and despair as their mother threw herself across his body and sobbed.


	17. Chapter 17: Epilogue

The nation of Ferelden and the city of Denerim particularly were plunged into deepest mourning following the death and funeral of King Alistair. The city was swathed in black for many a month following the burning of Alistair's pyre and a dark shadow fell especially on the inhabitants of the palace.

The queen nearly took leave of her state duties, turning the running of the nation over to her children. She was silent and solitary but for the company of Eleanor and Duncan, and complained of problems sleeping.

Eleanor recovered quickly from her wound. Though it had been serious, the quick application of elfroot by Lauthrin combined with the mysterious healing from her brother resulted in only a small scar. She did not suffer and permanent damage to her shoulder.

Nearly a year after Alistair's death, the queen was lost during an inspection of the Deep Roads beneath Orzammar. The dwarves that made it back to the city told of darkspawn that had ambushed them in what they had thought a secure area by tunneling through a side passage. Due to the queen's bravery, many men had been saved at the cost of her own life. This gained the royal family and the Grey Wardens further respect in the eyes of the dwarves, both commoner and noble, and cemented many bonds and treaties that had been made with the surfacers.

Eleanor and Duncan mourned their mother, but had known her passing would come soon. Not only had they suspected that she was plagued by the dreams the Wardens referred to as the Calling, but she also was clearly not herself since her husband's death. She had faded to all but a ghost inhabiting her rooms at the palace and had barely responded to anyone or anything for months.

After a suitable period of mourning, Duncan was crowned king of Ferelden, carrying on the Theirin name on the throne. After much private discussion between them, Eleanor left Denerim to join the Grey Wardens at Amaranthine. She underwent the Joining there and reunited with Lauthrin, who had returned there soon after Alistair's funeral.

Duncan was a good king and his reign continued the many reforms his parents had started between the Circle of Magi and the Chantry. He never forgot the words that his sister had repeated to him from the Chasind witch regarding their heritage and what mysteries they held. He puzzled over them during many a sleepless night. Though he could not use magic in the traditional way that the Circle mages could, he became known as the Mage King due to his diligent research into the ways and uses of magic.

And the peace of the Warden King continued for many years.

* * *

So this is the end of this tale, which has taken about seven months to write from beginning to end. Thank you so much for reading and stay tuned for (possibly) the further adventures of Duncan and Eleanor.


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